


And All the Stars Between Us

by missadriella (ellemzee)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Destroy Ending, F/M, Post ME3, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 65
Words: 122,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9284027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellemzee/pseuds/missadriella
Summary: She's prepared to face anything and everything in the galaxy. She's utterly unprepared to fall in love with her lieutenant.Moments between Shepard and Kaidan through the course of the series and beyond.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was meant to be a quick, post-Destroy fic. Ha.  
> This is meant to go along with the games, not replace them. Most major missions are only briefly remarked upon. Others are viewed through Kaidan's perspective.

2187 - Citadel

 

Her first assessment, which is that she managed, against all odds, to survive, hinges mainly on the rapidly intensifying pain throughout her entire body and the relentless ringing in her ears that makes it impossible to hear herself think. Moving is out of the question: even the rise and fall of her chest is excruciating and she fears that blacking out again will seriously impede her goal of continuing to live. From her vantage point she can see the charred shell of her hardsuit, a red emergency light blinking just inside the collar beneath her chin, her bare arms, raw and red. Further down, the awkward angles of her legs disappear into a vast field of debris. Above her lies the expanse of space dotted with stars, still and silent behind a miraculously unbroken kinetic shield. She wants to close her eyes again: concentrating on anything too long lets the other thoughts slide effortlessly away, and she knows there is something she should be doing but cannot settle on.

Less reassuring, and a direct contradiction to her original assessment, is the presence of the dead woman sitting next to her.

"You're dying, Commander," says Ashley Williams. She is perched on a twisted section of metal a few feet away, dressed in her familiar Phoenix armor, eyes dark and face impassive, her voice crisp and clear despite the ringing. "You're bleeding out."

"Always with the good news," Shepard rasps, barely audible. Her throat feels like it has been rubbed with sandpaper, her lips parched and cracked. The smell of smoke and singed flesh burn in her nose. Familiar. Too familiar.

"You picked a decent place for it. Maybe you'll even catch a last glimpse of Earth if you time it right." She rises, crossing the room to gaze out into space. Her footsteps are silent and no debris shifts in her wake.

"Why are you here?"

Ashley turns. She is strangely solid against a background that is decidedly wavering under Shepard's unsteady gaze. Behind her, the stars are blurred, dancing streaks of light.

"I wonder how they'll remember you," she says. "Oh, they'll sing your name to the heavens at first. Savior of the galaxy. That will stick for a while. Everyone loves a hero."

"Why are you here?" she asks again. The familiar coppery tang of blood is on her lips.

"It's a face you recognize," replies Ashley simply. It doesn't answer the question, and Shepard opts for another.

"Where am I?"

"Where do you think you are?"

She is maddeningly calm.

"I don't..." Shepard probes gingerly at her memories, trying to banish the fog, but it's like chipping a statue out of a block of stone. Disconnected fragments rise to the top: a bright beam of light, shouts over the static of a radio, a mouth warm and hard and desperate against hers. Frustration builds inside of her; the betrayal of her own mind is harder to accept than the betrayal of her body.

"The Citadel," she says slowly. "But I don't...I don't remember how I got here. Why I'm here."

"The Citadel," confirms Ashley. "All alone, dying in a pile of rubble."

A distant alarm begins taking root. Something important she's forgotten.

"You have a few choices," says Ashley, facing the void again. A sliver of blue shimmers at the edge of the field. "You can close your eyes now, drift off and never wake up. Painless. More than you deserve. Or you can keep hanging on by your fingernails, bear the pain for a few more hours, and choke to death on your own blood."

The sliver of blue is growing: Earth rising on the Citadel. She can't tear her eyes away. A funny feeling suddenly fills her throat. A familiarity she can't place.

"No one will find your body," Ashley says. "No one will bring you back this time."

And everything comes crashing down at once, a pile of disjointed memories hitting her like a tidal wave. Earth. Her mission. Her crew. Being tossed like a ragdoll across the room by the force of the explosion. The crucible. Red light so intense she can see it through her eyelids, a sound like the end of the world, fire and heat and pain and pain and pain...

"What happened?" she demands. "Did we win?"

"I don't know any more than you do."

She tries to raise her suddenly leaden right arm, gasping at the fresh onslaught of pain that floods her body. It falls against her chest, still short of its goal, and she steels herself for another attempt, drawing breath after painful breath.

"Why bother? You aren't going to get any answers. You're just making it worse for yourself."

She won't panic. Can't. Her right hand makes it to her earpiece and the faint buzz of radio static joins the droning in her ear.

"Normandy, do you copy?"

Silence. Static. Anxiety gnaws a hole into her already frayed nerves.

"Normandy, this is Shepard. Do you copy?"

Nothing.

"Sucks to be abandoned, doesn't it?" says Ashley.

"Who the fuck are you?" snaps Shepard. "You aren't Ashley. Ashley was goddamn helpful. So why are you wearing her face and what the fuck do you want from me?"

"Do you really want to die alone?"

"I won't die here." She switches channels and activates her earpiece again. "Does anybody read me? This is Shepard. I need a goddamn pickup before I bleed to death! Joker! Talk to me, damn you!"

"No one is coming for you."

"Can you please either help or shut up?"

Ashley strolls back to her and sits down again. Were her eyes always this dark- black and cold, full of contempt? Surely not. "Okay. You want help? Let's see. Are you even speaking into that radio, or do you just think you are?"

Shepard realizes with a jolt that she's right. When she concentrates on moving her lips, the taste of blood comes back full force. When she tries to speak, only a short, harsh sound makes it up her throat.

"You just don't have the energy. You've lost too much blood and your consciousness will be next. Death is a blast, right? Mine certainly was. Literally, thanks to you."

 _I'm sorry you died_ , she says- thinks- to Ashley. _I made the decision I had to make. It was nothing personal._

"Tackling some of the guilt instead, huh? Okay, I'll play. That's bullshit. There was exactly one reason I died, and if I had known that sleeping with you would be a pass to getting out of there alive I'd have considered it."

 _He was the higher ranking officer. There wasn't time to go after you both._ It's the same story Shepard has rehearsed over and over again, has reassured herself with on those long nights when she couldn't sleep and wondered endlessly whether she'd made the right choice, has reassured him with on those same sleepless nights. _I couldn't risk the whole team. We'd already cleared the path between us and Alenko. Your position was an unknown._

"Bullshit," says Ashley again, softly. "Does that help you sleep at night? You went after him because you broke regs and let your feelings get in the way. Some commander you are. Was the sex worth it, at least? It would be really embarrassing if you went to all that trouble and then he, I don't know, publicly dumped and humiliated you in front of your crew. Oh wait."

Shepard's left arm remains stubbornly still where it lies at her side and her right is not interested in any further movement after its journey to reach her earpiece. Her breathing is getting shallow, the pain in her chest too intense to handle anything deeper. If she could just close her eyes for a second...

"Of course, now that you reconciled, I'm sure he'll take comfort in the few short weeks you spent together between your first death and this one. How many people can say their lover died twice? That'll be a great icebreaker for his support group. Assuming he's still alive, anyway, and that's pretty doubtful."

The sound doesn't quite make it, but Shepard's mouth shapes the worst word she knows and she summons just enough strength to jerk her upper body into a sitting position. A veil of black descends briefly over her brain and then retreats; she falls to the side with a small, agonized groan. Tears leak down her face, but she grits her teeth: her goal is so near...

Earth is fully visible now and Ashley stands silhouetted in its light, arms crossed over her armored chest, watching as if Shepard's suffering is mildly interesting.

"What do you think is going to happen if you're rescued?" she asks. "Look at yourself. You'll never be fit for service again. What good are you, Shepard, if not a soldier?"

"I don't know," huffs Shepard, the words coming rough and raw and accompanied by a wet cough. The blistered fingers of her right hand find the omni-tool on her left forearm and activate the emergency signal, then override the medi-gel system.

Mission complete. She rests her head against the cold chunk of tile beneath her, listening to the faint beep, watching the lights dance over her arm as the pain slowly fades to numbness, medicine flooding her veins.

It's getting harder to keep her eyes open.

"You've been down this path before," Ashley says quietly. "The big goddamn hero. How long did that last the first time? Did the Council wait five minutes after you died to hush everything up and toss it out of an airlock? How long do you think it will last this time?

"Dead heroes are more compelling than live ones. People love to dig up dirt on living heroes, and you're positively filthy. How long til someone reminds the public about all those poor batarians you slaughtered? All those faceless mercs you mowed down without flinching? That lively little soldier you abandoned on Virmire? And your crew, of course. What happens when Commander Shepard comes back without her crew?"

 _They're alive_ , thinks Shepard fiercely, though the fog is seeping into her brain again. Her cheeks are curiously wet.

"What's left for you to live for? This vicious chain of events isn't sustainable, Shepard. You survived Mindoir to walk into Akuze. You survived Akuze to die alone in space. You came back to suffer as a traitor and a war criminal. You got out of house arrest just in time to fight an impossible war. What's next? What does the galaxy have in store for you after this? Do you really want to find out? Has any tiny scrap of happiness been worth what you've suffered to get it? Don't you just want to rest?"

She does. "I'm so tired." She can't remember the last time she wasn't tired.

"Just give up, Commander." Her voice is still soft, oddly soothing despite the venom behind her words. "Give in. It'll all be over soon."

And God, but she wants to.

Her voice is nearly silent, a pathetic whimper. "I'm not ready yet."

Ashley's voice is soft, too. "Neither was I."

Shepard drifts in and out of a daze for what could be hours or weeks for all she knows. The overdose of medi-gel makes everything soft and improbably funny. Particularly hilarious is the idea of her crew finding her, Commander Fucking Shepard, barely clinging to life in the gutted remains of the Citadel, utterly out of her mind on painkillers and talking to a ghost.

 _What a laugh that will be_ , she thinks. _Joker will never let me live it down_. She pictures the look on Kaidan's face, exasperation mixed with relief. _Don't ever fucking do that again_. And Garrus. _Of course she'll do it again, it's Shepard we're talking about here_.

They're alive. They have to be.

 


	2. Chapter 2

2183 – SSV Normandy - Eden Prime

 

Shepard's name is well-known throughout the Alliance, so it's no surprise when Kaidan sees that she's been assigned to the Normandy. He remembers the post-Akuze footage, the empty face of the young marine who'd stood upon the stage with distant eyes while politicians droned at her. His own CO had glanced up at the screen and shaken his head.

"Helluva soldier, that one," he'd said. "To go through that after losing her family on Mindoir? She won't be right after this, mark my words."

But here, seven years removed from Akuze, Shepard is a model soldier and half a legend. Her handshake is firm when Anderson introduces them, and her eyes study his face with such intensity that he feels like he's being searched. A soldier's eyes: taking in every detail and missing nothing. She is on the taller side for a woman, a few inches shorter than him, but he never even remotely feels like he's looking down at her. Her face is young but hard, dominated by those prying eyes and a prominent nose, and marked with battle scars both literal and figurative. A line of scar tissue neatly bisects her left eyebrow and another rests below her lower lip, while her eyes remind him that no matter how many years pass, she still remembers the losses in her life.

Then she smiles, and his heart skips a beat at the radiance it lends her face. _Oh no_.

"Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Alenko," she says. "I haven't worked with many biotics. I heard you're one of the best."

"Thank you, Commander. I hope to live up to your expectations."

"You'd better," she says.

So far, that isn't going well.

Gunnery Chief Williams looks between him and the unconscious commander while he tries to salvage the situation. Between the deaths of Jenkins and Nihlus, the shock of seeing geth, and the massive fucking mystery ship, the day was already not going well. Shepard saving him from the Prothean beacon and getting blasted halfway across the spaceport for her trouble is just the icing on the cake.

“Hell of a day," says Williams, who doesn't know the half of it. Kaidan has quite possibly just killed one of the most highly respected women in the Alliance after having served under her for barely an hour. Full-on panic mode is the next step, but he holds it back as the Normandy sweeps in for a landing.

"We'll have to carry her." Shepard remains unhelpfully unconscious, sprawled on the ground. According to his scanners, her vitals are stable and steady, nothing abnormal besides her obvious lack of awareness. "Dr. Chakwas will know what to do."

"Guess I'm coming with you," says Williams. "Let's just try to stay away from any other Prothean beacons, huh?"

He does not particularly appreciate the joke, but she does help him lift Shepard and between the two of them, they set off for the ship.

_Just had to walk up to the beacon, didn't you?_ he berates himself silently. _Probably would have been a good assignment and you had to completely fuck it up in the first twenty minutes, didn't you?_

"This isn't Shepard from Akuze, is it?" asks Williams as they trek across the heat-crisped grass towards the landing site.

"Wouldn't bring that up in conversation first thing when she wakes up," he replies tersely. _If she wakes up_.

From his position, he can only see her back, and her shoulders tense at his reply. "I wasn't aiming to offend," she says. "I just recognized the name, and...well, I just lost my unit, too."

"You did. Shit. I'm sorry."

Williams hikes Shepard's legs a little higher on either side of her waist. "It's fine. We've all taken losses. I just hope the commander recovers. What do you think that beam did to her?"

He doesn't really want to speculate. The way her body had gone rigid, held paralyzed in the thrall of the beacon's pull, makes him shudder to think about, worse than the feel of her body limp in his arms, the way her head lolls against his chest. "When I walked toward the beacon, I felt...something in my head, a jumble of noise and pictures, before she pulled me away. I don't know a lot about the Protheans, but they were highly advanced. It's possible that beacon wasn't meant to be accessed by our species in the same way."

"Could've fried her brain, in other words."

He winces. "Basically. Yeah."

Anderson is there to meet them in the shuttle bay, and sends them straight up to medical. It's a relief to set her down on a cot, knowing she'll be in good hands, but Kaidan is not looking forward to explaining the situation. While Williams stays behind to help Chakwas get Shepard out of her armor, he helps the captain coordinate recovery for the bodies of Jenkins, Nihlus and the rest of Williams's unit. Anderson is tough but fair; he doesn't place any blame outright on Kaidan for what happened to the beacon, but it's clear he's postponing judgment until he hears what Shepard has to say.

"The doctor's pretty optimistic," says Williams as they sit together in the mess a few hours later. Out of armor, she's a tall brunette with dark, friendly eyes and a smile just this side of dangerous. "No brain damage or anything. I told Captain Anderson it wasn't your fault- you didn't touch anything, and when my unit was guarding the beacon we were all just as close without anything happening."

"I appreciate it, Chief," he says wearily, picking at his dinner.

"You can call me Ashley," she says. "Might as well get friendly since we'll be spending some time together. The captain is having me transferred here. Said you put in a good word for me."

"You handled yourself well out there," he replies.

"So did you. You got a tight grip on your biotics. I always imagined more collateral damage in a biotic fight."

He almost smiles. "You're not shy about speaking your mind, are you?"

She shrugs. "Not really. Tell me if I'm out of line, LT."

"I think you'll fit in," he replies, picking up his tray. "I'm going to check on Shepard."

But to his disappointment, Shepard is still out cold.

Dr. Chakwas ends up giving him a cot in the medbay as well. It helps to be nearby, to reassure himself that the commander is alive and he didn't get her killed, but he barely sleeps. He's well aware of how creepy he's being, getting up several times to stand over her, to make sure she hasn't stopped breathing, knowing that she would probably freak out if she woke to find him staring into her face, but besides the occasional twitch of her eyelids and the rise and fall of her chest, she doesn't move.

Without the smile lighting her face, she's quite plain, he decides, sometime in the middle of the night when he's checked on her for the fourth time. Maybe he had been imagining it, that spark that her smile had given him, the way her calm but firm voice had resonated in him. She's a soldier, he reminds himself, and off-limits besides, and that's even considering she doesn't immediately kick him off the ship when she wakes. He studies her face, the tiny scars there, and wonders why she had pushed him out of the way.

Besides the disaster with the beam and the dead turian and Jenkins and the geth and the husks, it was almost an enjoyable mission.

Okay, so working with Shepard was the only bright spot in that mess, but it was a hell of a bright spot. He's a little embarrassed at just how much control she had over the situation, even through the multitude of surprises and problems, while he'd barely managed to get her back to the ship afterwards. The rumors were all true, he supposes, watching her head turn slightly to the side, lips parted, still out. She hadn't missed a shot, hadn't batted an eye at disarming a series of explosives, reacted with enough speed to keep him from injury at the cost of her own self.

He has a better idea of how she managed to survive Mindoir and Akuze.

"I'm more than capable of looking after an unconscious woman on my own," says Chakwas with a small laugh when she finds him still sitting vigil at Shepard's bedside after the sleep shift.

“I know. I just...”

“Feel responsible. Yes, I understand.” She picks up the chart at the end of Shepard's cot and jots down a few notes. “A bit of unusual brain activity, but nothing serious appears to be wrong with her. If she doesn't wake soon, I'll try a stimulant. Meanwhile, if you're going to be loitering here anyway, I have some things that need done.”

The doctor gives him an energy bar and puts him to work unloading and organizing supplies. Shepard remains motionless, her vitals unchanging.

When she finally stirs, he doesn't exactly jump to her side, but he's fast enough that he misses the amused smile that crosses Chakwas's face.

 


	3. Chapter 3

2183 - Citadel

 

Shepard is quiet by the time they stop for lunch on the Presidium. With all the morning's activity, Kaidan assumes she's deep in contemplation, mulling over the the responsibility of becoming the first human Spectre, a new and unfamiliar weight on her shoulders. As though she wasn't far enough out of his league, he thinks to himself, hiding a rueful smile.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks as the three of them crowd around a tiny table with an assortment of sandwiches from the least alien cafe on the Citadel. No one gives them a second look, three soldiers still suited up in a sea of aliens and humans alike. The magnitude of the station is mind-boggling. Somehow it seems more expansive than any of the worlds he's been on save for Earth, a planet all of its own filled with enough curiosities that he has to remind himself not to stare.

"I still don't really get what the deal is with the consort," Shepard admits between bites, and Ash muffles a laugh.

"I think you could have gotten more than a gift of words from her, if you'd played your cards right," replies Ashley with a grin. "She was all over you."

"Really? That's...not what I expected to find on the Presidium. First time I walked my squad into a brothel, I guess."

"I don't think it's as cut and dry as that," replies Kaidan. "But yeah, Williams is right. I don't know much about asari, but that was uncomfortable."

"Think it's too late to go back?" wonders Shepard jokingly. He thinks it's a joke. Hopes it's a- well, the asari had gotten awfully close to Shepard...

"First human Spectre, and that's what you're focused on?"

The commander shrugs. "That part hasn't really sunk in yet. I don't know if I really deserve it, to be honest. There's hundreds of soldiers more qualified than I am."

"You'll do great," says Kaidan. "Anderson backs you, even Udina had good things to say about you. And your service history is exemplary: the survivor of Akuze, one of the few N7s still in the Alliance. I don't know why you're worried."

Ashley coughs. "Did you watch a vid on her service history before we got here or what?"

"I'm just..."

"Trying to be helpful," says Shepard with a smile. "I get it."

"We always called it being a kiss-ass," says Ash.

Shepard polishes off a sandwich and reaches for another. “Every officer likes their ego stroked a little now and then. Makes me feel a little better about getting knocked out by a beacon on my first Spectre initiation. Talk about embarrassing.”

He squirms in his seat. “Sorry again for that.”

“Still not your fault. Save your apologies for when it really is.”

“I don't remember any training on Prothean beacons in basic,” says Ashley.

“I don't know too much about them myself,” admits Shepard. “I've always heard Prothean tech was rare, and let's face it, we're still newcomers to the galaxy. Besides the obvious rule against interacting with unknown tech, there's no established protocol on what to do when a machine tries to mindfuck you. There probably will be now,” she adds, chuckling.

“Shepard's Law,” suggests Ashley, to laughter around the table.

“God, I hope not. What a legacy to leave behind,” says Shepard.

“Could be worse. Are you really going to bring all those aliens along with us?”

The good humor fades from Shepard's face. “Do you have a problem with that, Chief?” Her voice is neutral, but Kaidan recognizes in her tone the signs of treading on delicate ground. Apparently Ashley does, too.

“I- no ma'am, it's your show.”

Shepard is quiet for a moment. “It'll be useful to have some differing viewpoints. If we were going after a human, maybe it wouldn't be necessary. But these races have coexisted longer than we've been in space. Plus, it might help convince the Council we can play nice with the rest of the galaxy. Getting a human on the Council would be a pretty big step for us.”

He can tell that Ashley isn't quite convinced, but having dodged one bullet, she isn't looking to provoke another.

“We'll see how it goes,” Shepard adds, correctly interpreting Ashley's lapse into silence. “Rest assured I'll be monitoring the situation.”

“I trust you, Commander,” she replies.

“I like opinions,” says Shepard. “Don't ever be afraid to tell me what you think. I may not always agree, but I'll listen.” She checks the time on her omni-tool and nods towards the elevators. “Let's get going. If we keep Udina waiting he's like to change his mind.”

“You eat like a horse, LT,” says Ashley with something like admiration as Kaidan chases his lunch with an energy bar while they're walking across the Presidium.

“Biotic appetite,” says Shepard before he can reply, glancing over her shoulder at the two of them. “Thank God I only have one of you to feed. I can't imagine your parents had an easy time keeping you fed through your teenage years.”

He almost laughs, tells her they didn't have to worry about it, but bites his tongue at the last second. Old memories aren't worth dredging up now, especially not to his new commander. Still, he almost feels she'd understand, some experiences they have in common, years of pain and suffering they've each had to move past.

She doesn't want to hear about it, he reminds himself. She's clearly put her personal horrors behind her, as evidenced by her rank and her long list of achievements. Maybe he could have come that far if things had been different, if he'd handled it better, if...

“Sorry,” says Shepard, and he realizes he hasn't spoken in some time. “If I'm being insensitive and your parents are dead or something, sorry.”

“No, Commander, nothing like that.”

“I got into a drinking contest against a biotic in N-School,” she says, deftly changing the subject. She's not stupid- she can tell he's uncomfortable and he appreciates it. “Didn't tell me he burns off alcohol as easy as calories, and I thought the blue glow was just because I had so much to drink. Here he was lifting a table behind me the whole time. Joke was on him though, he burned out his amp and spent the rest of leave frantically searching for a new one. Got chewed out by the requisitions officer. All I got was the mother of all hangovers, so I consider it a win.”

Kaidan joins the laughter, relieved. Shepard catches his eye and smiles.

Oh.

No, he definitely did not imagine it.

 


	4. Chapter 4

2183 – Rayingri

 

The dragon's teeth around the entrance to the base are not the most encouraging sign.

"Husks," says Alenko unnecessarily. "I hate those things."

"They're squishy," comments Wrex. "Easy to kill."

"All right," says Shepard, overriding the lock. It cedes easily beneath her omni-tool. "Wrex, you take point. Alenko, Tali, keep your distance and hit them from afar. I'll clean up what you miss." She readies her sniper rifle. Wrex glances at her and scoffs.

"You three can sit back and put your feet up," he says. "I'll handle it."

"Wrex," warns Shepard, but though the krogan pushes ahead, he pauses and waits for them to catch up.

Husks, though somewhat unpredictable, are not difficult to fight. Wrex barrels through them like they're made of paper, and what are left get thrown across the room by Alenko's biotics or fried by Tali's omni-tool. Shepard barely has to lift her gun as they secure the base. She's pleased by the efforts of her team so far. Wrex is dangerous, sure; she hopes he's paying enough attention not to sweep her and Alenko into the same group as the husks, but he adheres to his own moral code and is willing to abide by hers, however grudgingly. Tali is young and brilliant and eager to prove herself. And Alenko is level-headed and obedient, his proficiency in biotics an excellent complement to his skill as a soldier. They've just reached the door to the next room when Shepard's scanner jams and her shields ripple with gunfire from behind.

"Geth!" she yells, and dives into cover. "On our six! Open fire!"

Thrown into chaos, Shepard tries to get some distance between herself and the geth. A missile barely clears her helmet as she rolls behind a stack of crates and tries to steady her gun. Sparks flare as Tali and Alenko tap into their omni-tools to overload the synthetic bodies and Wrex rips a metal arm from its socket. Shepard makes a clean headshot and lines up another shot, but the geth keep pouring in.

"Fall back!"

"Shields are down!" calls Alenko, sheltering Tali regardless as they hustle towards the hallway, ducking behind a pillar. The scanner is still scrambled and the strange mechanical sounds of the geth are loud in the enclosed space. Shepard is crammed behind a desk, watching the flash of metallic legs and feet. She trips one with a well-placed bullet and finishes it with another when it falls. She twists, crawling under the desk and aiming up from beneath, just as a rocket impacts the pillar to her left. The force of the projectile sends Tali stumbling towards the far wall, Alenko towards Shepard's hiding place. Her finger has just tightened on the trigger when he falls into her path.

For a heart-stopping moment, Shepard is sure it missed. Then Alenko's vitals completely vanish from her sensors and he drops like his legs have been cut off at the knee.

She thinks she screams. Wrex bodily slams the geth out of the way and Shepard fires one, two shots into another. Her scanner clears as she wriggles out from under the desk and drops to her knees beside Alenko.

"Environment update!" she snaps at Tali. It was a direct shot, square in the back, between his shoulders. There's a scorched hole in his suit, but no blood. She rolls him over, body heavy in her arms, and looks for the exit wound. Nothing. Her gloved hand runs over his chest, down his stomach, but there are no tears in the suit, no holes in the plating. "Tali! Now!"

"All ranges acceptable for humans," says Tali, and Shepard wrenches Alenko's helmet off.

"Life support isn't responding," she mutters to herself. Alenko's face is pale, his eyes closed, and she feels sick as she gropes for the omni-tool on his limp arm. The backup sensor beeps a distress signal, finding nothing.

"Hell," whispers Shepard. She pulls off her own helmet and begins stripping off her gloves. The air is stagnant and foul, tinged with the scent of burning metal and gunpowder, but it's breathable. There's a pain in her chest that has nothing to do with the atmosphere as she maneuvers her fingers into the neck of his suit.

"C'mon, Kaidan," she murmurs. "Keep it together."

A pulse beats steadily against her fingertips. She has half a moment to be puzzled, another half to be relieved, and then Alenko regains consciousness with a gasp, eyes snapping open, and fixes her with confusion in his gaze.

"Commander?"

She draws her hand away hastily, sits back on her haunches, burying the unexpectedly intense relief and trembling hands under a blanket of anger.

"Lieutenant," she says, deadly soft, "are you all right?"

"I think so." He winces as he sits up. She can see the pain in the way his shoulders slump forward. "Hell of a headache though."

"Do you have anything to say before I fucking rip you in half for not running safety checks on your fucking life support systems before a ground mission?"

His brow creases. "I did, Commander. I always do."

Before she can open her mouth again, Tali cuts in. "He did, Commander. You shot him in the processor on the back of his suit." She points to the pit where the bullet hit him. "The impact would have knocked all of his systems out instantly. It may even have overloaded his amp."

He gingerly touches the back of his neck. "I think it did."

“That's probably why he lost consciousness,” says Tali.

"Oh," says Shepard stupidly. "Well, I'm an asshole then. Sorry, Kaidan. Alenko."

He smiles. She wonders why she never appreciated just how sweet that smile is until now. It's a tired smile, tight with pain, but its very existence after such a close call is a borderline miracle.

"We all make mistakes," he says.

"Duly noted. Come on, let's hook you up to my suit til we get back to the ship."

Splitting the life support system isn't a difficult process, but her fingers seem clumsier than usual. Maybe it's because she's concentrating so hard on keeping her eyes off Alenko's face, off his obscenely inviting mouth, off the beat of his heart in her ears when the connection goes through, off the beat of her own heart, too fast, too hard. Maybe it's the inherent intimacy of sharing a single oxygen tank, of linking them together, the dependency of survival. When the last hose clicks into place, she meets his eyes and it's undoubtedly a mistake.

"All set, Commander?"

She forgets how to speak for a moment. Damn it. Damn him and damn her weakness for a pair of soft brown eyes. She clears her throat and turns away.

"We're set. Stay close, Alenko."

If his voice sounds sultrier than usual when he says "aye aye, ma'am," it's entirely in her own head, she tells herself.

 


	5. Chapter 5

2183 – SSV Normandy

 

"You've got a crush."

Ashley's voice is just a little too loud and Kaidan glances frantically across the room to make sure it didn't carry straight to Shepard. The commander, her attention monopolized by the datapad Tali is showing her, thankfully does not look up, though he swears the corners of her lips twitch just slightly. When he turns back to her, Ashley gives him a smug smile. Damn her.

"Tell the entire mess, Williams."

"If you insist," she replies, and pushes back from the table as though preparing to stand and deliver an announcement of epic proportions.

"It's a figure of speech," he hisses, dragging her back down onto the bench next to him.

"It's sweet," Ash says, though at a much lower volume, resuming her meal. "But you've gotta stop the puppy-dog eyes every time she walks by. You're a grown man. It's a little pathetic."

"Puppy-dog eyes?"

"Yeah. You know." She tilts her head, pouts, and looks up at him with dramatically wide eyes. "Pay attention to me, Commander."

"I do _not_ do that."

"Yeah you do. Like I said, it's sweet, but she's not that kind of girl. She's not going to throw away her career for puppy-dog eyes and stares of impotent longing across a crowded room. She's not a subtle lady. If you're not direct with her she's going to brush you off. I'm sure you're not the only subordinate she's ever had want to get into her pants."

"Thank you, Williams, for the unsolicited romantic advice."

"No problem." Ash pauses to dump an obscene amount of ketchup over her tray. "You sure picked one hell of a woman to lay your hopes on, though. I'm not even into her, but if she came onto me? Shit, I don't know if I could turn her down. Bet she could snap your neck with her thighs if she wanted to."

"Oh my _God_ , Williams."

She grins at him. “Like you haven't thought about it.”

He has.

He makes a mental note: Ashley is a lot more observant than anyone gives her credit for.

Or he's that obvious.

It's not that Shepard is some kind of beauty queen. She's a military woman, slim but solid and with enough muscle to throw a man across the room if needed. Her face is hard, sharp, closed-off more often than not. But there's something in the way she carries herself, an unstoppable force of nature, a brightly-burning star with enough gravitational force to pull in everyone and everything around her. And, once in a while, the uncertainty bleeds through the cracks in that facade and proves that she's human like the rest of them.

He would honestly be satisfied to stand in her light forever.

“So what's the plan?” Ash asks.

“Plan?”

“Yeah, the plan. You're gonna woo her, right? Come on, LT, I'm invested now. This can only end in disaster or hilarity.”

“Even if she was somehow interested, there's regs. There won't be any wooing on the ship.”

Ashley shakes her head. “I'm not encouraging you to bend her over her desk or get physical in the backseat of the Mako-”

“Holy shit is this conversation really happening?”

“-but you can test the waters on the ship and get to the good stuff on shore leave. Anyway, she likes you.”

All of Ashley's teasing words dissolve around him as he focuses on that last sentence. His heart is beating embarrassingly fast and all of a sudden he feels like an awkward teenager again.

“Did she say something?” he asks, fully aware that he is losing all credibility as an adult and a marine.

“It's what she hasn't said,” replies Ashley, rolling her eyes. “She hasn't told you to knock it off yet and she's not oblivious enough not to have noticed. Look, I don't condone this kind of behavior, but I feel like you're more of a danger to yourself if you don't get a piece of her attention. Like you might go and get yourself shot again just for the off-chance she'll have to strip you down to dig the bullet out.”

He has to laugh. “I'm sure she'd be impressed by the way I'd writhe in agony before throwing up and passing out.”

“I've seen people do stupider things.”

“Room for one more?” Shepard is already putting her tray on the table across from them, smiling quizzically. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No ma'am,” says Ashley, humor still evident in her voice, and Kaidan doesn't trust himself to look at her. “We'd love to have you join us.”

He makes another mental note: never, _ever_ , mess with Ashley.

 


	6. Chapter 6

2183 – SSV Normandy – Therum

 

Therum turns out to be one of Shepard's more interesting ventures. Between a small army of geth, an exploding volcano, and the rescue of an asari maiden, it's not entirely unlike a fairy tale. Upon her trusty steed (the Mako), she comes to save the day, even if the rocky and mountainous planet means a rather bumpy ride.

The asari, Liara, is obviously taken aback by her rescuers, the ragtag crew come to grill her about her mother's involvement with Saren, but she takes it in stride, if a little shyly. She prefers the solitude of her hidey-hole in the medbay to the often loud mess or the lounge, but is always pleased to chat with Shepard, who is curious not only about any ties with the enemy, but asari in general.

She doesn't realize how much time she's been spending with Liara until she sits down for dinner a week later, as they're in line for a relay jump. Normally, the combination of her chronic lateness and the extra time it takes Alenko to consume a biotic's worth of calories means they run into each other there more often than not. It's a nice chance to catch up, to swap stories over the table, but today he's oddly quiet and barely looks up when she sits across from him.

"If Williams is picking on you, I can tell her to knock it off," she teases, and he gives a not entirely genuine smile.

"Nah, nothing like that, Commander."

"Something wrong?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing that you need to worry about, but thanks."

Puzzled, she turns back to her tray and focuses her attention on figuring out what the grayish meat in her soup is. Noodles and carrots, yes, but is chicken supposed to be this color?

"I'm surprised you aren't eating with Dr. T'Soni," he says neutrally, still not looking at her.

"What, Liara? She prefers to eat alone. Doesn't want any witnesses while she tries our Alliance slop, probably. Can't say I blame her, and not just because asari have more refined palates."

"You, uh, interested in asari, then?"

"Don't really know too much about them. Met a few in training, but it was more turians. My old CO said asari are too high and mighty to demean themselves training human soldiers. The ones I met were during N-School. Commandos. Could kill you three different ways before you knew it was happening. And their biotics would give you a run for your money, at least. Liara's not quite in that range though."

His face remains wooden. She leans forward.

"Speak plainly, Lieutenant. What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing, just...you're spending a lot of time together, and we don't get a lot of downtime, so if you'd rather be talking to her I'd understand." He says it all in a rush. Shepard stares at him for a moment, then starts to laugh.

"You're angry that I haven't shown up for our usual dinner dates," she says delightedly. From the color that creeps up his neck she knows she's right.

"That's not true," he attempts to lie.

"It's cute. You're still my number one biotic, don't worry. Liara just needs some coaxing to join the rest of us. She's shy, and not used to being around so many humans. It would mean a lot if you and Ash would try to make her feel welcomed, too.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“That wasn't an order. Just a request from a friend.”

“I'll pass the word on,” he assures her.

“Good. And I'll try to be on time for dinner.”

“You don't have to eat with me, Commander,” he says, though he's plainly pleased to hear it.

“I know I don't. I like to know my crew, and you and I don't cross paths a lot outside of ground missions.” _I'd like to change that_ , she doesn't say- can't say. That's all she needs, Alenko reporting her as some kind of creep to the Alliance. It's honestly kind of tragic: the majority of the people she meets are part of the Alliance, off-limits even if she wanted to pursue something personal with one of them, and here's Alenko, attractive, intelligent and available, but utterly untouchable. The galaxy is a cruel place, she supposes. Still, she's not above letting her gaze linger now and again, and certainly not above joining him for meals whenever she can.

And not above enjoying the way his face lights up when she compliments him.

“So you're not going to give me the cold shoulder again, right?” she teases, watching the tips of his ears go pink.

“No, ma'am. I'll try not to,” he replies. That smile. God. It's embarrassing to admit how weak in the knees it makes her. There have been men she's found attractive before and she managed to talk to them without worrying about making an awkward pass on them, but something about Alenko invites her to open her mouth a little wider than she might usually, to spill a few more secrets to keep those dark eyes watching her. It's a dangerous dance with a subordinate.

Shepard has always been slow to trust, to open up. It started after Mindoir, the stark reminder that everything in her life, everyone that she loved could be taken away instantaneously, wiped out as thoroughly as an eraser against pencil, and persisted through Akuze, another blow from the universe. Indulging so much into another person only to have them ripped away...it's too much to bear. Not again.

But that smile. It almost makes her reconsider.

Almost.

 


	7. Chapter 7

2183 - Edolus

 

"Any communication?"

"Still nothing, ma'am."

"I don't like this," says Shepard, barely audible over the whine of the Mako's engine. The familiarity of the situation nags at her as she squints through the windshield at the expanse of rock and dust ahead of them. A mile ahead, the distress beacon flashes on their radar, a pulse of white on green. "Garrus, I want you on the guns. Be ready to fire on my signal."

"Got it."

They roll closer. Edolus is a barren wasteland peppered with craters, not fit for habitation. Whatever the cause of the distress beacon, she doesn't expect to find survivors. There are no bunkers, no prefabs, nowhere to hide and nowhere to defend. Geth would slice easily through a single armored vehicle and pirates, though less likely, would jump eagerly on a possible source of supplies, and neither would bother to deactivate the transmitter.

"Debris," reports Williams. "Straight ahead. A vehicle."

Shepard leans forward. "Looks like a Grizzly. Stationary. Thermal readings?"

"Negative," replies Alenko. "Accuracy can't be confirmed for another sixty meters."

"Then let's confirm. Movement?"

"Motion sensors aren't picking anything up," says Williams.

"Garrus? What do you see with the scope?"

"Additional debris," he says. "Possible bodies, Shepard. Humans in Alliance uniform."

"Shit. Alenko?"

"Negative thermal readings within 99 percent accuracy."

She swears again. "Williams?"

"Still no movement, ma'am. But the sensors are indicating some unstable ground."

A thrill of horror shoots through Shepard's body just as the ground ahead of them erupts in a geyser of dirt and rock. Chunks of rubble rain down on the Mako, the sound drowned out by the crew's shouts of alarm. A thresher maw, a goddamn thresher maw, something she never expected to see again, rises like a titan over their tiny vehicle, and Shepard suddenly can't move. She can hear her own panicked breathing, the rush of blood in her ears, and then it gives an earthshaking screech, so familiar, too familiar, and her veins flood with ice. Frozen in place, Shepard can only stare helplessly at the wall of pulsing flesh in front of her, and then it's night and she's alone and clutching an overheating assault rifle in bloody hands-

"Shepard! MOVE!"

She jolts hard back to reality, Alenko screaming in her ear, and slams the vehicle into reverse as the thresher maw turns its sights on them. Heat rises in her neck and face, an unfamiliar flush of shame as she tries to get her bearings, hands fumbling on the controls. She steadies her voice.

"We're taking this fucker down. Garrus, ready on the missiles. We'll loop to disorient it and do a slow pass. Fire on my count." She's aware of Alenko looking askance at her, but he says nothing. She is thankful that her helmet hides all but her eyes.

It's a roller-coaster ride, the ground rumbling beneath them with the movement of the thresher maw. Shepard jerks the wheel and the Mako squeals into a turn as the maw tries to burst out from under them. When she yells, Garrus fires, and they race across the dirt again before the monster can get its bearing back. Missiles can stop a thresher maw.

Missiles have stopped them before.

A tense few minutes pass before the maw hits the ground with a crash that shakes the Mako like an earthquake. Behind her, Williams utters a faint "holy shit." Garrus looks rattled, and Alenko's eyes are closed behind his visor, fingers clenching the seat, other arm braced against the window. Shepard wants to laugh and cry and scream all at once. Numbly, she unfastens her harnesses.

"Williams, Alenko, with me," she says. "Garrus, keep an eye on the sensors while we're out there."

"Aye, aye," replies Williams.

"Commander," begins Alenko gently, "maybe you should..."

"Maybe _you_ should remember who's in charge," she snaps, harsher than she means to. "When I want your opinion, Lieutenant, I'll ask for it."

The line of his shoulders goes tense, and his voice is flat when he replies, "yes, ma'am."

She regrets it, but hurt feelings aren't important right now. He saw her slip. If she lets him take pity on her, lets him treat her delicately or differently because of her past, she doesn't deserve her position or the respect that comes with it. No, better to distance herself. Even if it means the loss of a burgeoning friendship.

And she's still shaking.

Loose dirt crumbles under their boots as they skirt the maw's body and press on to the abandoned vehicle. Sure enough, the ground is scorched by acid and stained with blood, and the bodies that are left are slowly decaying in the thin atmosphere. Shepard closes her eyes and takes a shuddering breath. Her gut is telling her to run, to sprint back to the protection of the Mako and get the hell off this planet, but she forces herself to stay.

"Alenko, take care of the transmitter," she says, tearing her eyes away from the hauntingly familiar scene in front of her.

"Something's not right here," says Williams, patrolling the edge of the scene. "No one would have lasted long enough to place a beacon here if they were being attacked by thresher maws."

Standing at the interface, Alenko bends to examine the data scrolling across the tiny screen. "Kahoku's men didn't leave it- they must have come to investigate it. And look- it's collecting readings and transmitting them along with the distress signal."

"Transmitting them to where?" asks Shepard.

He shakes his head, scanning the beacon with his omni-tool. "It's encrypted. We might be able to crack it with Tali's help. I'll send the data to the ship."

"What kind of readings is it taking?"

"Everything from weather to thermal imaging. Audio, video, you name it. It's like it was monitoring the thresher maw, but for it to have sent out a distress signal..."

"My God," says Williams, her voice rising, pulsing with anger. "It was a trap. Someone lured those men here and watched them get torn apart!"

Red haze creeps across Shepard's vision and she fights to keep her voice calm. "Alenko, get your readings and turn off that transmitter. Then both of you get back to the Mako and call the Normandy for extraction. I'll be right behind you."

They exchange a glance but say nothing, and once Alenko has finished with the beacon, Shepard steps forward with the biggest rock she can handle and brings it down squarely against the control pad.

Metal gives way under the force of her blows, chips of glass and plastic fall to the ground around her feet, but she barely notices anything except the feel of the rock in her hands and the rage propelling it, over and over, smashing the deceptive beacon until its hardware lies in ruins, sparking and spitting, coils of wire rolling out in tangles. She beats it like she can't beat the thresher maws, or the culprit behind the trap, or the perpetrators of Mindoir, or all the frustrations in her life that she has to face with fake smiles and diplomacy, or her own cowardice and hesitation. When she's finally done, when she can't lift the rock anymore, she sinks to the ground among the rubble and the bodies and the grotesque remains of the maw and sits there until the Normandy arrives for pickup.

 

-

 

"Go talk to her."

"She's mad at me. You go talk to her."

"I'm happy to, I just thought I'd give you the opportunity first," says Ash. "She's not mad at you anyway, LT. She's mad at herself. She panicked."

He knows Ash is right. He saw the wide-eyed terror on Shepard's face beneath her visor, the way her hands clenched the steering wheel when the thresher maw burst out of the ground in front of them. He saw her attack the beacon with uncontrolled fury normally contained behind a professional exterior. She's angry and humiliated and upset and all of the emotions are squarely aimed at herself. She'd forgone their usual briefing and dismissed them without another word, disappearing into her quarters, and now, hours later, she still hasn't emerged, not even to eat.

"There's no shame in reacting badly to a thresher maw," says Garrus, sitting across from them. "Even discounting what happened to her at Akuze, most people have the same reaction."

"Shepard won't accept that," says Ash, jabbing her fork in the air to punctuate her statements. "It's not easy being a woman in the Alliance. She's had to claw her way to where she is now. Any weakness, no matter how understandable, looks twice as bad on a woman. You ever notice how she doesn't talk about herself, about those big events in her past that she managed to live through, Mindoir and Akuze? She's barely even said a word about becoming a Spectre! If a woman talks about her achievements, it's bragging. If she talks about her failures, it's whining. And if she talks about her fears, it's incompetence."

"Humans would actually accuse Shepard of being weak on such a basis?" Garrus shakes his head. "Ridiculous."

"Tell me about it," replies Ashley. "C'mon, LT. She values your input. Take her a tray and ask if she needs anything. Inflate her ego a little. It'll mean more coming from you."

He doesn't quite believe that, but he finds himself on the way to Shepard's door with a dinner tray in hand regardless, dearly hoping he isn't inviting another scathing verbal lashing upon himself.

When the door finally slides open, Shepard blinks up at him like she's not quite sure what to make of him. She's still in uniform, hair flat where her helmet covered it, but her eyes are red and her face pale. Behind her, her terminal is lit, a training simulation paused on the screen.

“What?”

It's not an encouraging word, spoken in less encouraging tones. The warning in her voice is clear. He holds out the tray like a peace offering.

“We need to talk about today,” he says. “Commander,” he adds hastily, lest she reminds him of his place.

“Kaidan, I really don't want this conversation right now.”

“You froze,” he says firmly. “I'm sorry, but I can't overlook that. If this is going to affect you...”

To her credit, she doesn't deny it. Her lips press together in a thin, angry line, but she nods stiffly and steps aside to let him in.

He's never been in her quarters before. It's roomier than the sleep pods but still a little like being stuffed in a shoebox. In one corner her bed is as neat as a pin, next to her computer terminal on a tiny desk and matching chair. The rest of the space is taken up by a small sofa and a set of two chairs at a round table. The walls are dominated by shelves stacked with books and the few personal mementos Shepard has brought with her: various service awards, an old, faded photograph in a frame. Despite the small space, everything is organized and clean except her hardsuit, thrown across the bed and still muddy from their mission. He places the tray on the table where she steadfastly ignores it and fixes him with a glare that would wither a lesser man.

“I froze up,” she confirms, and he swears her chin wobbles just the slightest bit. “A goddamn Spectre and I lost my shit over a thresher maw. It's embarrassing. It's pathetic. Do you think this is news to me, Alenko?”

“Shepard, I have to be concerned. We don't know what we'll encounter out here. You can't let this distract you.”

“I hate this,” she says. “Do you know how many simulations I had to run through after Akuze to prove that I wasn't mentally scarred from the experience? Six different therapists cleared me for duty and seven years later, here I am. Right back at the fucking beginning.” She throws herself into one of the chairs at the small table and moodily stabs her fork at the dinner tray.

“Akuze must have been horrible.”

She laughs bitterly. “I was the last person who should have walked out of there alive.”

"But you did. That kind of thing would traumatize any soldier-”

“I'm a commander. I have to rise above it,” she says sharply, pushing her chair back and stalking to the sim on her terminal screen. “And if that means I stay up all night fighting fucking virtual thresher maws til I get it right, I will!”

“Can I help?”

“What, are you a field medic _and_ a field therapist?” she mutters.

“No. But that's what I'm here for. To help you, to make sure you're doing well, that you're in a condition to lead us. You have every right to panic in this situation. Better soldiers than you have had to overcome fears in the battlefield. And I probably didn't help anything by screaming in your ear.”

“Not really. All right. Plug in and let's give this a shot.”

She drags over a second chair and they sit in front of the terminal. It's admittedly been a while since Kaidan has used a training sim, but the memories return easily when he slips the helmet on and sees the virtual landscape materialize before him. As Shepard adjusts the settings, everything becomes very much like their Mako ride across Edolus, from the rocky landscape to the hazy atmosphere.

“The problem is, I know it's coming,” she says. “I tense up.”

“I hate to break it to you, but pretty much every moment of our lives there's a thresher maw or a geth ship or some other terrible thing hidden just around the corner,” he points out, and elicits a small laugh from her.

“Fair enough.”

When the thresher maw does pop out of the ground on the training sim, they both jump. It's rendered in nauseating detail from its hideous jaw to its horrific screech. Beside him he can feel Shepard stiffen. It's the sound that seems to affect her most.

“You can do this,” he says.

“Ready on the guns,” she tells him, maneuvering them deftly out of the way.

Graphics aside, it's not quite like being in the Mako. The steadiness of the ship's deck beneath them is not the rumble of the Mako's wheels with its unpredictable handling, but just the images are dizzying enough, a virtual tour of Shepard's driving ability. She drives and he shoots. It's very similar to their experience earlier, dodging and weaving, shooting when there's a window of opportunity. When it falls and dissolves from the screen, she grabs his wrist and he can feel her shaking.

“You did it,” he says soothingly, watching the sim assess her performance. Her hesitation is still higher than what it should be, but all in all it's a pass.

“It's easier with someone to help,” she says.

“You'll always have someone to help,” he reminds her.

There's a short silence before he hears her swallow, feels her nod. “Thanks, Alenko. One more?”

One more quickly turns into six more, until Shepard is pleased with her scores. Most of the stress has melted from her face by the time she takes off the training helmet and meets his eyes with a small but genuine smile.

“I appreciate what you did for me,” she says. “You didn't have to, and I had no right to expect you to after how I acted today.”

“You're the CO. We all know you're under stress, and we can tell the difference between real anger and anger born of adrenaline. Mostly,” he adds.

“Still. When I find out who set that beacon, they're going to get the Mako's cannon jammed up their ass. No one should have had to go through that again, not after Akuze.”

He hesitates. “You've...never talked about it.”

In fact, Anderson had warned the entire crew prior to Shepard's arrival: _Don't ask about Akuze_. Kaidan had, naturally, done just that within the first day of meeting her and promptly spent the next trying to wrench his foot from his mouth, but she had merely changed the subject. Now, at the terminal, her eyes are faraway.

“It's not a story I'm proud of,” she admits finally, “but since you've been good enough to help me, I'll tell it, if you want to hear it.”

“Only if it doesn't bother you,” he replies quickly. The part of him that enjoys being so close to her wants desperately to know, wants to prolong the time he can spend sitting with her in her cabin, wants to understand her a little better by hearing about her past, but the last thing he wants is to see her upset.

“Anderson told me some memories are like poison. They'll kill you if you keep them to yourself, but diluted over many people, they're harmless. And even though Akuze is one of those memories, there are precious few people who know the truth. I don't want to hear you repeating this, though, do you understand? I don't want some telephone chain where it comes out at the end sounding completely different.”

“No, ma'am, of course not.”

She tells him.

 


	8. Chapter 8

2177 – Akuze

 

No matter how many times she gets on a ship, space travel never fails to excite Shepard. The magnificence of space, the sheer magnitude of it is enough to bring her to her knees. Even a run-of-the-mill mission like this is made bearable by the thought of traveling to far-off places where few humans have ever set foot. She's at the window when they begin the final descent, waiting for the captain to call them down to suit up, watching the stars flash by as they zip to their destination.

“What do you think, Shepard?” asks Clarke. He's a private, same rank as her, with bright, eager eyes. “Weiss is taking bets. I have ten-to-one that they just up and forgot to turn on their beacon. Kunselman says power outage.”

“I hope it's something that mundane,” she replies. “My gut says batarians.”

Clarke shakes his head. “You're always quick to blame the batarians.”

She shrugs. “They don't make themselves very sympathetic what with the smuggling and slaving. Maybe if we go more than a week without hearing a news report about their latest atrocity I wouldn't automatically jump to accuse them.”

“The galaxy is full of shit people who aren't batarians, too,'” he replies. “Tell you what though, if it's batarians, I'll let you buy me a drink on the next shore leave.”

She snorts. “Sounds like I'm losing all the way around.”

“That's cold, Shep. There are people who would kill to buy me a drink.”

“Yeah? Ask them, then.” She stands and stretches just as the captain's voice crackles through the intercom.

“Ground crew, suit up, fifteen minutes to the shuttle bay.”

“And there's us,” laments Clarke. “Always when it's getting good.”

“Was it getting good, though?” wonders Shepard aloud, just to rankle him.

Akuze is a beautiful place. A paradise, she thinks, as they descend through the crystal blue skies. The landing zone is one of the few clear areas in a cluster of lush green jungles brimming with activity. The trees rustle with the movements of small animals, leaping from branch to branch. Birds call at them as they pile into half a dozen Makos to travel the already overgrown path to the settlement. Shepard finds herself directed into the first with the captain, squeezed between Private Clarke and a corporal named Toombs who she knows only distantly.

“No contact via radio,” reports Captain Lin. He's old enough to be Shepard's father, a no-nonsense man with a shrewd, intelligent face. His brow is creased as he checks all the frequencies. “Alpha Team will go in first to scout. Everyone else, be prepared to move.”

“Doesn't sound good,” says Clarke.

Five minutes later, they're rumbling through the settlement. It's a small place, carved from the forests in a half-circle of prefabricated trailers that house two hundred colonists. The main lab is in the center and atop it sits the transmitter tower. When Shepard follows the captain out of the Mako it's into a puzzling scene.

The encampment is empty, motionless. Several trailers are tipped on their sides, furniture and electronics and lab equipment spilling out like guts, and many of the structures are badly corroded in places, the metal sheeting burned through to the very skeletons. They creep through, weapons drawn, scanners alert, but meet no resistance.

“Shepard. Readings?”

“Nothing on thermal cameras, sir,” she replies promptly.

“Jensen?”

“Nothing on the motion sensors.”

“I see some anomalies throughout the site,” the captain says. “Evidence of ground shifting. Possible seismic activity. A corrosive substance has damaged much of the settlement.”

“Could we be looking at a chemical spill?” wonders Jensen.

“This was a bare-bones operation,” counters Shepard. “Even if it was a chemical spill, there's no accounting for how much of the colony took damage versus how much chemical they could possibly have had on hand.”

“A fair point,” says Captain Lin. “But we can't rule out a chemical attack. Some sort of dirty bomb could account for the damage as well as the upheaval in the ground. Beta Team, follow us in, look for survivors.”

Shepard can't help but think of the similarities to Mindoir: the destruction, the empty houses, but it doesn't look like the work of batarians. Indeed, no one is sure what could have happened. They don't find any survivors, nor any bodies at all, and nearly lose a member of Delta Team in the loose soil covering what appears to be a sinkhole. They comb through the prefabs and find meals still on the table, datapads abandoned in the middle of sentences, doors hanging open. The generators are in pieces, half sunk in the ground. Even the livestock has gone missing. In some of the overturned trailers they find blood, shallow pools on the ground, smeared handprints on the walls, but it's the only evidence of violence in the camp. All the weapons are still secure in the armory, no spent shells litter the ground.

“It's like they up and left,” muses the captain as they set up camp for the night. The jungle birds have fallen silent with the dusk's approach, and besides the occasional chat between soldiers, the night is still and quiet, fading into golds and reds chased by velvety black. It reminds Shepard of her childhood, the brightness of the stars the only lights in a moonless sky, just like on Mindoir.

“You're on first watch, Shepard,” the captain tells her. “I want you in the lab. Get with Toombs and Jensen and see if you can make sense of some of the data we've collected.”

Night falls like a woolen blanket as she climbs into the nearby prefab with the others. It's humming with electricity and glowing with light. Jensen is bent over his terminal, sifting through the final recordings from a week earlier just before the colony went dark. Toombs nods at her and she settles next to him. He's a broad-shouldered man with a hard face and a receding hairline, and barely looks at her when he passes a datapad into her hands.

“Any luck?”

“Not so far. Some interesting data, though. The sensors recorded some mild seismic activity leading up to the blackout. Could be we're looking at a geothermal event.”

“Like a geyser?”

“Maybe. Nothing abnormal came up on the pre-colonization scans, but you never know. Just when you think you've got the universe figured out, it finds a new way to surprise you.”

She pores over the seismic data. “These quakes aren't very deep.”

“Not at all. When we get back to the ship I'm going to order a scan of the core. See what kind of center we're floating on. Someone dropped the ball here- this should all have been part of the preliminary reports. This is a helluva thing to miss.”

A lone bird squawks in the distance and Shepard glances out the open door at the smudge of the jungle on the horizon, beyond the perimeter guards. “What about wildlife?”

“Nothing remarkable,” replies Toombs. “All the land animals are smaller than a rabbit, and most are birds. That's one of the reasons the Alliance chose Akuze for colonization.”

“No large predators? That's surprising.”

“A blessing for starting up a colony. We have enough to worry about this far from Earth.” He casts her a sidelong glance. “Something you know all about, I'm sure. You're the girl from Mindoir, right?”

A stab of annoyance. “I prefer 'Shepard' if you don't mind.”

“No offense meant. Hell, you're one of the few marines who understands the dangers of the galaxy. We aren't all out here to have a good time in space. There's shit out here that no one should have to deal with, and you're a tough kid to deal with it and still show up to help the Alliance.”

“Well, thanks, then.”

Darkness settles over the campsite. Their portable generator kicks on to keep their makeshift lab running and their guns online, just in case. Its low hum breaks up the deafening silence as Shepard compiles data for their overnight reports. She has just put on a pot of coffee when a gentle temblor shakes the campsite. She turns to look at Toombs and in that moment the ground is ripped out from under her.

There's a sound like a dreadnought tearing itself in two as she hits the lab's floor, formerly the wall, and heavy electronic equipment showers down around her with a series of crashes as the prefab rolls. Something strikes her in the side of the head, splitting her left eyebrow with a flash of pain. Blood runs down her face, warm and sticky, and she remains motionless, dazed, as the screaming begins.

Through the open rectangle of the door she sees a huge shape moving with impossible speed, the flash of gunfire and the meager light of the stars not strong enough to reveal anything but a silhouette, dark on dark. Someone grabs her arms and hauls her away from the doorway, clamping a hand over the wound in her forehead. A voice is screaming in her ear but she can't understand it, can't make out any words above the sounds of terror all around her, and she's screaming too as the lab shakes again and they go tumbling end over end. She ends up sprawled amidst broken glass, facedown on the floor, the breath knocked from her chest with hands grabbing desperately for her shoulders.

“Shepard, just hold on,” gasps the voice in her ear. “I'm gonna hit you with a stim, and we need to get out of here, okay? Hold on to this.”

A gun is thrust into her hands and a pinprick of pain stings her upper arm. The dizziness and confusion gives way to fear and the screams are still echoing in the night, drowned out by a roar that turns her insides to ice. She hurts all over but struggles to her feet, tasting blood in her mouth and shaking so hard her knees threaten to give way again.

“What's happening?” she cries. Toombs grips her arm and steadies her. His face is pale and glistening with sweat and she can read the terror in his face like looking into a mirror.

“There's something out there!” he shouts. “We have to take it down! Stay with me, Shepard!”

She glances down and regrets it: Jensen is crumpled on the floor, eyes open and glassy, blood pooling around his head. Arcs of red are spattered over the walls and the ceiling where his body tumbled with the roll of the trailer and she can't look away. Panic threatens to envelope her, breath coming hard and fast.

Toombs slaps her hard. "Private! That was a direct order! There's no time for gawking!"

It's enough to stun her back into action. She gulps a deep breath and grips her gun in sweaty hands. He's right. She straightens up, snaps off a salute and a "yes sir," grateful for the mindless distraction of following orders.

The door is flush against the ground now, sealing them in, but the window has broken on the top and Toombs boosts her onto his shoulders to reach it. The stim pulses through her veins and determination overtakes her fear as she climbs onto the top of the lab and reaches down to help Toombs out.

Carnage greets them. Two dozen dead lay sprawled across the remains of the campsite. The perimeter scouts are gone, the guns toppled. The creature- whatever it is- has disappeared from sight. In the distance it bursts from the ground again, snapping up a marine who had tried to make a run for it, a vast, tubular body topped with a ravenous mouth. A ragged sob escapes Shepard's chest but there is no time to cry. The monster retreats underground again, leaving screams and moaning behind it.

“My God,” says Toombs. Shepard can't speak. She moves to climb down off their structure but Toombs grabs her arm again.

“No! It's underground! Some kind of giant worm, or snake! It must feel vibrations in the ground- that's how it knows!”

“People are dying, we can't just leave them!”

“We don't have a choice! Do you plan to fight that thing on foot?”

As though hearing their argument, the monster rips again through the ground. Across the camp, one of the soldiers is limping for the shelter of the jungle. The monster gives another bone-chilling shriek and hurls a glob of liquid in his direction. They don't hear the noise he makes when it impacts him, but his silhouette seems to sink slowly into the ground until nothing remains of him. Shepard's stomach finally twists and she empties it over the side of the building, heaving and choking. Something is on fire and the smoke stings her eyes and throat.

“You're not going to die here, Shepard,” says Toombs, handing her another stim. “You're gonna get out of here, I promise. You just have to hang on. Now listen to me. We can't kill this thing with pistols. We're going to make a run to the next trailer, grab some grenades, okay? Gotta be quick, you understand? Don't stop for anything.”

She wipes her mouth on her sleeve and nods. Mindoir didn't kill her. Neither will Akuze.

The rattle of gunfire and the moans of the dying follow them as they dash to the next building. The ground erupts just behind them, flipping the trailer at an angle but they are ready for it. Two bodies share the space with them, both half dissolved, but Shepard hardly looks at them. Not now, not now. There will be time later. She's thankful for the dark.

Grenades roll across the floor as she dumps out a box of supplies, and she grabs blindly for them with shaking hands, loading the launcher with Toombs's help. Beneath them the ground jolts, outside the screaming goes on and on, a constant horrific drone in her ears.

“I really hope this works,” she pants.

“If there's anything a grenade can't put down...”

Even more horrible than the screaming is the slowly winning silence. The creature finds them, one by one, and one by one the screams stop. They set up in the doorway, waiting for their chance, standing stock still so as not to alert it.

Behind them, somewhere in the debris, the radio squawks, obscenely loud.

"Hello? Anyone! Is there anyone alive?"

Toombs motions for her to hold position and rummages through the remains of the trailer. The shifting of items sounds terribly loud in the silence. Her heart beats faster.

"Got it," he mutters, and the trailer goes sideways.

Shepard hits a desk and hears the snap of ribs. Medi-gel pumps into her system but the pain is staggering. She hugs the grenade launcher to her chest and struggles back to her feet.

"Shut the fuck up," hisses Toombs into the radio. "It hunts by sound! This is Toombs and Shepard. Is the captain still alive?"

The voice is quieter when it replies. Elsewhere across the camp, the shriek of the creature ends another burst of gunfire. "This is Suarez. The captain's hurt bad. I have half a dozen marines in the northwest corner of the camp but we're pinned in an overturned trailer with no ammo. The emergency hatch is stuck and I don't have any techs. Captain says Shepard's got infiltration training."

He glances up at her. "Shepard's injured..."

"I can do it, Corporal."

"...but we don't have much choice," he finishes. "Sending her your way."

“What about you?” she asks.

“I'm going to make a run for the armory. One grenade launcher isn't going to stop this thing. Take that one and get to the captain. Stay off the ground as much as you can.”

“Yes sir!”

The creature is nowhere in sight when Shepard climbs out of the trailer. Her head is pounding and her cracked rib sends a wave of agony through her every time she moves, but she presses on. Behind her, Toombs deftly scales the next trailer, using the rooftops as a bridge. She does the same, moving in the opposite direction.

Training has taught her how to move silently, but at a cost. She strips out of her heavy armor and her clumsy boots, a sleek figure in a form-fitting undersuit and stocking feet, and secures the grenade launcher on her back and her pistol at her side. She pads across the trailer's roof, jumps to another, and waits. No shape bursts out of the ground to deter her.

Overhead, the stars light her path to Suarez and the captain. She can see the overturned trailer, the emergency hatch on the roof now on the side, but it's standing on its own on the open ground and somewhere beneath her the creature lurks, waiting for her footsteps. She hesitates, wishing it would show its ugly face so she could at least know where it's hiding, but her luck isn't about to begin now. No, she doesn't have a choice.

She slides down the side of the trailer and places a tentative foot against the ground, pauses for a split second, and sprints like hell.

Barely a second after she's reached the trailer and hoisted herself over the side, the ground breaks behind her and the monster rises above her. It's close enough that she can see it in all its hideous glory, the chitinous shell, the slavering jaws, and her legs collapse beneath her. She gropes for the grenade launcher and fires.

A brilliant light flares above her and the creature lets out its worst shriek yet. Something wet spatters around her; the few drops that land on her exposed face burn like fire, and the monster retreats underground. She throws the grenade launcher down beside her and leans over the edge of the trailer to override the hatch, her omni-tool a welcome glow in the darkness. The hatch springs open and she lowers herself gingerly inside.

“You're a sight for sore eyes, Shepard,” says Suarez, taking the grenade launcher and helping her to the floor. This trailer is just as wrecked as the others, and six marines with varying degrees of injury are sitting around the captain, who isn't moving. "What's the situation out there?"

She shakes her head. "I didn't see anyone else alive besides Toombs. That...thing, it tore right through the camp. We only survived because we were in the lab. We never saw it coming."

"Thresher maw," says the captain, barely audible. He's slumped against the wall, hips and legs broken and stretched uselessly before him, face ashen. Shepard has seen enough dying men to know he is not long for this world. "Live underground. Attracted to vibrations in the ground. Two hundred colonists walking around must have sounded like a feast."

"How do we kill it?" asks Shepard.

"Heavy weapons fire. Nothing else will get through that shell."

"I hit it with a grenade. Wounded it, maybe."

"Maybe. Or maybe not. We could stay here, wait til morning and assess the situation," suggests Suarez.

Captain Lin shakes his head. "We don't have the time to wait it out. Communications are out. The Alliance will send another team after us if we don't report back within a few hours. Someone has to get to the landing zone, signal the ship."

"Let me do it, sir," says Shepard immediately.

"You're injured, Private. Suarez will lead the team towards the Makos, utilize their weapons if necessary, and bring back help. I want you on the grenade launcher as a distraction. Toombs? Are you still out there?"

His voice crackles through the radio. "Yes, sir. I have an additional grenade launcher in my possession. I'm east of your position, at the armory."

The captain grins. His mouth is red with blood.

"That makes things a lot easier."

In theory, the plan is simple. Shepard and Toombs lure the thresher maw out of the camp with the grenades, counting on the vibrations from the explosions to draw it near, while Suarez leads his group to the Makos. She settles in the doorway of the hatch, gripping the launcher. She's beyond fear now and on to numbness.

It's quiet. The last vestiges of gunfire and the moans of the dying have gone.

An explosion, far across the campsite. Toombs's grenade. The ground shifts slightly and she knows the thresher maw is on the move. Beside her, Suarez motions his marines to hold, then to move out. They drop lightly onto the ground and break into a run.

Six hundred yards away, the maw surfaces with a roar and finds nothing.

“Move!” shouts Suarez. They're still a hundred yards away when it turns its blind face towards them. Shepard hoists the grenade launcher over her shoulder and fires. The projectile falls short of its goal, but the explosion successfully confuses the creature for a few precious seconds. Suarez makes it to the Mako, ushering his team inside, and the silence is broken by the rumble of the vehicle's engines. The whine of the guns warming up is the most beautiful sound she's ever heard.

The first missile impacts the maw with a noise like a dropped watermelon, blowing a hole in the monster's shell. It shrieks at the sky, writhing in agony, and finally falls with a thud that shakes the entire camp and makes Shepard's teeth rattle. She lets out a choked little laugh, hearing the faint sound of the marines cheering from the Mako.

And then the second thresher maw erupts from the ground.

It flings the Mako across the compound like a toy, and the resulting crash is loud enough to drown out Shepard's scream of “NO!” She scrambles for the grenade launcher again, aims and fires. It's a hit, but how much damage is done is impossible to tell. Not enough. She sees the wall of flesh rush towards her. The trailer tips again and then everything is black.

 

-

 

Some time later, she wakes to pain, a headache so bad her vision blurs, every breath drawn in agony. A thousand needle-sharp pains jab her body, the burn of thresher maw acid here, the sting of broken glass there. The trailer's emergency lighting is down to a single bulb, a dim glow in the darkness. Everything is quiet. The acrid scent of smoke is heavy in the air.

“You still with me, Shepard?”

She manages to turn her head. Captain Lin is sprawled nearby, face as pale as death. His dark eyes are half open, fixed on her. A crimson line creeps down his chin.

“Yes, sir,” whispers Shepard, the taste of blood strong in her mouth.

“You're a good soldier, Shepard.”

“Thank you, sir.” Everything is surreal and calm, and she realizes she doesn't fear death as much as she thought she did. It will come, and this time she won't fight it. Not like Mindoir. No, she'll let go this time. The pain will stop and her family will be...

“Need you to do something.”

“Sir?”

“You gotta get to the LZ. You're the only one who can do it. The Alliance will walk another unit right here and it'll happen again. You gotta stop it.”

“I...yes, sir. I don't...know if I can move.”

“You can do it,” he insists.

She closes her eyes. It would be so nice to stay here on this floor, to drift away. Getting up seems impossible. Walking anywhere seems even more so. She gropes in her pocket for the stim and jabs the needle straight through her undersuit into her left shoulder. Even the drug doesn't completely shake the fog around her head this time, but it will have to do. She feels ready to split apart at the seams.

She rolls onto her side with a groan, uses her right arm to prop herself up. Dizziness threatens to send her back down but it passes, and she manages to raise herself onto her feet, though somewhat staggered.

“What do I do?” she asks. No answer. She turns.

The captain is unmoving, his eyes open and unseeing. She wants to cry, to mourn him, but she just doesn't have the energy to do anything but put one foot in front of the other. Painfully, purposefully, she kneels down and gently closes his eyes. With her right arm she gives a wobbly but respectful salute.

“Is anyone there? Captain?”

Her heart surges, bringing with it a jolt of adrenaline. When she finds the radio she nearly drops it.

“Toombs?”

“Shepard! Thank God. I thought I was the only one left. Is anyone else..?”

“Everyone's dead,” she replies.

“Yeah. Do you have any ammo left?”

“I'm out.”

He curses. “Okay. Do you think you can make it to the Mako if I distract the maw?"

She looks out across the camp. There's one Mako still standing, some three hundred yards away. Even without her injuries, she couldn't make that dash before the thresher maw caught up.

"I'm hurt bad, Toombs. I can't run it in one go. I'd need two. One to get to the trailers, maybe fifty yards, then I can move over the roofs. Another to get me from there to the Mako. Little less than a hundred yards."

He's quiet for a moment. "I think I can do that."

She braces herself, and waits for his signal. When it finally comes, she's not aware of anything but her feet on the ground. Pain is meaningless, exhaustion is nothing. She tears across the camp and onto the ladder up the side of the trailer before the blast stops ringing in her ears, pulling herself up, lungs burning with the effort. When she's on the roof she falls flat on her back for a moment, letting herself breathe, staring at the stars.

Just once more, she tells herself. One more and you can rest.

Achingly, she pulls herself back up and moves as quickly and silently as she can over the trailer tops. She sees the glint of Toombs's grenade launcher on the far side of the trailers, the shifting of earth over the back of the thresher maw where it lurks between them.

"Ready when you are," she says, positioning herself on the ladder.

"Good. You need to make this one count, Shepard. I'm gonna level with you- I'm out of grenades."

The weight of his words sinks in slowly. "No- you can't-"

"I don't know how long you'll get before it's on me," he continues, as though she hadn't spoken. "Don't look back. Be ready on my signal. Good luck, Shepard."

"Don't make me leave you-"

"NOW!"

She drops to the ground and runs. Behind her she hears the roar of the thresher maw, the ground shaking underfoot as it pursues its target. There's a final burst of assault rifle fire, cut off too soon, and then she's there, throwing herself into the Mako, over the seats to the controls. She swings the turret around to face the monster just as it turns to her. The missile guidance system locks on.

It seems to fall in slow motion, like she's in a dream. She hardly feels the impact as it crushes half the Mako beneath its massive body, the shriek of metal bending around her. Her trembling hands slip off the console and she topples sideways across the front seat, letting loose the tears she's been forced to keep unshed all night, if only for a few minutes.

Eventually, she squeezes herself out through the door that's popped open like a balloon under the force of the creature's weight. Up close, the body reeks like sewage mixed with the sweetish stench of rotting flesh. If there was anything left in her stomach it would come up at the smell.

Everything is silent except the drip of blood on the dirt as she pads across the ground.

“Hello?” she calls, in a hoarse, trembling voice that doesn't sound like her own. “Is anyone alive?”

No voices call back. No one is left to answer her.

She limps in the direction of the jungle, following the tire tracks left by their journey into camp. One foot in front of the other. _Keep moving, just keep moving,_ she tells herself.

She tries not to think about how it's five miles back to the LZ. She tries not to think about what else might be lurking under the surface in the jungle. She tries not to think.

There's blood on the ground here, darkly painted in the dirt, and she pauses, following the trail with her eyes into the underbrush. Something shifts, rustles the leaves, and a small pained noise accompanies it.

“Hello?” she asks uncertainly.

A thin voice responds with a single word: “Shepard?”

She crashes into the jungle and falls to her knees beside the figure. His bright eyes are dull, and his legs...oh God. First aid scenarios run through her head, but even if she had supplies, she doesn't know where to begin. The glancing blow from the maw's venom left little to work with.

“Clarke, my God!” She cradles his head. If he feels her touch, he doesn't respond.

“Glad you're alive, Shepard,” he whispers. “If that's actually you. Everything's a little...hazy.”

“I'm going for help,” she tells him. “I can carry you.” It's too late, she knows it's too late, but she's not thinking straight anymore, hasn't been thinking straight for some time, and she slaps his face gently to keep him awake. “We're okay now, just need to get back to the Alliance and we'll be fine.”

“Where's everyone else?”

“They're dead. Everyone's dead except you and me, please Clarke, you need to hang on, okay?”

“Hell,” he breathes. “Never expected this. Great frontier of space, huh?”

“Some frontier.” She gives a shaky, humorless laugh. “Fucking...giant space worms. I'm going to pick you up now, okay?”

But he screams as soon as she raises him more than a few inches from the ground, and her broken ribs force her down on her hands and knees, panting.

“It's all right, Shep.” His voice is softer now. She fumbles for his hand. “S'all right.”

She sits next to him, murmuring soothing words. He's dead within ten minutes.

The next hour blurs. She's empty now, devoid of anything except single-minded determination pushing her shell of a body forward.

Dawn is breaking when she reaches the LZ, a blood-and-gore covered figure half-dead and exhausted. A shuttle is just touching down when she stumbles out of the jungle. Marines rush out to meet her, and she manages a salute before collapsing at their feet.

 

-

 

Arcturus Station is a world unto its own, with enough bars and enough soldiers on shore leave that Shepard can enjoy a different one of each every night. It's setting her therapy back, she knows, but she doesn't care. She doesn't want to dwell on it, wants the disconnect of alcohol and human touch to take her as far from Akuze as possible. They gave her a promotion and a medal for managing to get out alive, a ceremony and everything, and that was the hardest night, standing on the stage like she was anything but an idiot who got lucky with the eyes of fifty families whose spouse or parent or child or sibling could have been in her place burning holes through her with that impersonal hatred. _No offense, but you shouldn't have lived, no offense but I wish you had died instead._ That was the first night she wandered out of her temporary quarters and into the nearest bar and drank until she couldn't feel.

A week later, she's deep into her third drink in one of the seedier bars, mostly empty and quiet but for the murmur of the radio, when a stranger takes the seat next to her. Casual clothes, neutral expression, but there's no hiding he's military. Normally she might sit up a little straighter, square her shoulders, present herself like a soldier, but it doesn't really matter anymore.

"Corporal Shepard? You probably don't remember me."

She tries to come up with a polite way to say she doesn't and doesn't care, but fails. "No sir," she says instead.

"Commander David Anderson. You're a tough woman to track down."

"Sorry for the trouble, sir." She's heard his name before in passing, but the galaxy's too big a place to cross paths with every soldier in the Alliance, or even remember half the ones she's met.

“I was part of the rescue team on Mindoir,” he says.

“Yeah? You were a couple of hours late, sir,” she replies.

A resigned sigh. “Yes, I suppose we were. But I remember you. You were a tough kid even back then.”

She laughs into her drink. There's no humor to it.

He looks critically at her glass. "There are faster ways to kill yourself, Shepard."

"Like visiting Akuze, ironically. That's what you came to talk about, right? That's all anyone wants to talk about. It's pure dumb luck that I survived, but everyone wants to pat me on the back for climbing out of a pile of corpses."

"I read your report," he admits. "Luck didn't put a grenade launcher in your hands. Luck didn't get you back to the LZ. From all accounts, you were a hell of a soldier even before Akuze. Your captain spoke highly of you. All your commanding officers have spoken highly of you. A bit impetuous, maybe, but sharp and capable overall. You say you got lucky. I say that fortune favors the bold."

“With all due respect, sir, I don't really want to talk about it.”

“Understandable.” The bartender sets two small tumblers in front of him and retreats. “Quit drinking that pisswater and have a real drink.” He slides one of the glasses to her.

Never one to pass up a free drink, Shepard shrugs and picks up the glass. “To the Alliance.”

“To you. To your promotion.”

She doesn't drink to that. “To the captain and everyone else who died on Akuze.”

He nods, they tap glasses. The whiskey burns all the way down her throat.

“I have a proposition for you, Shepard,” says Anderson. “Captain Lin recommended you for Interplanetary Combatives Training. You've heard of it, I trust?”

“N-School?” she asks in surprise. Maybe she has been drinking too much.

“You're a perfect candidate. Your actions on Akuze just solidify his decision. I'd like you to consider it. With a few stipulations. Finish your therapy, first and foremost. And the drinking has to stop. If I see you in a bar on this station again, you're out, no questions. There's no drinking in ICT. Or fraternization,” he adds, and she feels her face flood with color. “It's not a decision to make lightly, and it will take your full commitment, but I think you have what it takes. You have talent, Shepard. I'd hate to see you waste it because of a mission gone wrong.”

She's on the shuttle two months later.

 


	9. Chapter 9

2183 – Mavigon

 

The bullet hits Shepard squarely in the chest.

Kaidan doesn't see the impact, doesn’t hear her shields fail, but he does see Shepard's rifle fall from her suddenly limp fingers, her other hand clamped over her heart. An alarm trills, lights blink inside of his visor: teammate injured, teammate wounded, vital signs flashing ominously. Shepard falls to her knees and the merc who shot her advances.

Brilliantly blue, his biotics flare to life before he makes a conscious decision to use them, the haze of light flaring across his skin and down his arm. It's a vicious throw. Ashley and Wrex press the rest of the pirates back and he sprints to their fallen commander.

His mind sings a shrill mantra, over and over: _Please don't die, please don't die_. If the lights of his visor were sounds, they would be screaming in his ears. Heart rate, blood pressure, respiration, all red, red flashing numbers that represent the ticking clock that is Shepard's life. His own heart rate starts inching up to join them.

He hauls Shepard across the floor, trying to ignore the trail of blood she leaves behind, and settles her in the shelter of a stack of crates. She's half conscious but limp, and blood bubbles at the corner of her mouth when he pulls her helmet off for a closer look.

"Medi-gel's not taking- Williams, what kind of rounds are they using?"

"Lemme just ask one of them," growls Ash over the sound of gunfire. "Yeah hey, random pirate, my friend wants to know what kind of ammo you use!"

"Real funny, Ash. I'm sure Shepard would be laughing if she wasn't bleeding to death."

Shepard _is_ laughing, albeit weakly. "That was kinda funny."

"You're not helping," he tells her sternly, waving his omni-tool over the hole in her suit. "Lungs are intact, no penetration beyond the bone, but you took a pretty good hit and the medi-gel's having trouble sealing it. I need you to stay still while I run a scan."

She obliges, though she has little choice. Her eyes glitter faintly, fixed on his face, and he's just glad they're still focused on something. His trembling wrist shakes the interface of the omni-tool as it hovers over her body. _She shouldn’t be bleeding this much_. A last gunshot rings out and Ashley returns, stowing her weapon.

"Wrex is keeping a lookout, but the radar is clear. How's the skipper?"

"We'll know in a minute." _Rule number one, don't dig the bullet out,_ he knows that, it was drilled into him during field medic training. _Apply pressure, pack the wound with medigel, wrap tightly, get to a medical professional as quickly as possible, unless..._

The omni-tool beeps its completion and they lean in over the display. Both of them groan.

"Chem rounds," says Ash. _Corollary the first: chem rounds, get them out as fast as possible or there's no one for the medical professional to save._ Shit.

"And I was so looking forward to not performing field surgery." He pulls his helmet off, rummages in his kit for the necessary supplies as Ash stares wide-eyed from behind her visor.

"You're gonna dig it out?" she asks, startled. "She'll bleed to death!"

"If I don't, she'll be dead before we can get her back to the ship. Once the bullet's out we can pack it with medi-gel. Sorry, Commander, this is gonna hurt."

"Always with the good news," says Shepard feebly. Her face is tinged with green.

"Vitals are good, medi-gel system is running. Williams, I need access to the wound, can you open up her suit?"

While Ashley deftly unfastens the armor, he runs decontamination on his gloves and double checks the scans from Shepard's wound. It's been years since he's been in this position but he remembers the process like he learned it yesterday. Of course, he didn't learn on his commanding officer or a woman he sort of lo- _really likes_ , which makes it a little more difficult.

Once the mangled chest plate is removed, Ashley unzips Shepard to the waist and slices through her undershirt and sports bra, revealing the entrance wound, a bloody hole in a mess of bruised flesh just above her breast. The bullet didn't pierce deeply: the scan shows it just under the skin, lodged under her collarbone. When he gently touches the surrounding skin to get a better look, Shepard barely stifles a scream. A glimmer of silver is just visible in the wound.

"I can see the bullet. Williams, you need to hold her down while I dig it out. Shepard, I'm going to give you a sedative, all right? But I have to get the bullet out before it kicks in."

"And here I thought you'd have a gentle touch,” she says. “Do it, Alenko.”

He pumps the sedative into her, watching her eyes go glassy. Then he cleans the site around the wound, takes a deep breath, and plunges the forceps in.

Shepard does scream then, a terrible sound, and Ashley pales, increasing the pressure on the commander's shoulders as she curses him up and down. Fresh blood flows in a rivulet down the line of her stomach and his hand slips; her vital signs spike suddenly on his readout and her eyes roll back into her head.

“You're killing her!” yells Ashley over the frantic beeping of the monitor.

“Just shut up!” There. Safely pinched in the grips of the forceps, the bullet slides out. He throws both aside and squeezes a sterile packet of medi-gel into the wound left behind, then uncaps a syringe of anti-toxin and plunges it into her upper arm. The bleeding tapers off. Shepard remains unconscious, her breaths shallow, but her pulse normalizes after a few minutes as the medicine takes effect.

“Will she be all right?” Ashley asks, a crease between her brows. Kaidan wipes his forehead.

“Yeah. The medi-gel will hold everything til Chakwas can look at her.”

“Jeez, that was close.”

He unfolds his legs from the crouch he's been keeping and sits heavily on the floor, wincing at the pain. “The commander can't do anything half-assed,” he said. “Not even getting herself shot.”

“I heard that,” mutters Shepard. A glimmer of color appears under her dark lashes, and she blinks up at them. “Why am I laying on the ground with my tits out? This doesn't look like shore leave.”

Ashley laughs, relief evident in her voice. “Does that happen to you a lot on shore leave, Skipper?”

“Stick around with me long enough and you'll find out. Doesn't usually hurt this much, though. Did I get shot?” Her left hand crawls up her chest towards the gunshot wound.

“You shouldn't move yet,” says Kaidan.

“Uh-huh. Eyes up here, LT.”

Heat floods his cheeks. “I wasn't looking at your- at anything besides your face, Commander.”

“The LT did a great job patching you up,” says Ashley, coming to his rescue. _Good old Ash_ , he thinks. He owes her one. “Minimal peeking. I made sure.”

“A pity for him, then.” Shepard modestly draws the ruined edges of her undersuit closed over her chest. “Should've looked while you had the chance. Did we get what we came for, before I left half my blood on the floor?”

“Data is secured,” Ashley assures her. “I'll radio the ship and have someone bring you a spare set of armor.”

“Awesome,” says Shepard. “I'm going to throw up now.”

She does, rolling onto her side, and Kaidan pats her on the shoulder.

“That's good,” he says. “Get the toxin out.”

“Another fine moment in my career,” she says when she's finished.

“You're amazing,” he says as Ashley and Wrex move towards the front of the compound, likely to heighten the reception on their radios.

“You'll be singing a different tune after I throw up on you.”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“You saved my life,” she says, “so I'll respect your wishes and throw up somewhere else.”

He laughs then. “Is that what saving your life is worth, then?”

“That and seeing my tits, yeah. Possibly a heartfelt thanks later, too. I owe you one. Or two. I lost count, honestly. Three, because I might need you to carry me back to the ship.” She wipes her mouth and winces. “Once more and I'll grant you a boon of your choice. The Shepard Special.”

“Okay. I think you're raving now.”

“The medi-gel has definitely kicked in, yes,” she agrees. “Please stop me from doing anything truly embarrassing.”

“I'll do my best,” he says, amused.

True enough, later she doesn't remember most of the conversation after that point, and he doesn't ever tell her how many times she complimented his eyes and offered to expose herself again before Ash returned with the spare hardsuit.


	10. Chapter 10

2183 – SSV Normandy

Space travel, despite the use of FTL and the mass relays, is mind-numbingly dull. There's only so long Kaidan can stare out a window, only so many times he can reread the same books, only so many letters he can write to his parents. He's glad for Ashley's company, though she has a habit of turning everything into a competition, and that leads to a few problems. Shepard is rarely pleased when they both turn up stiff and wincing from trying to outdo each other in push-ups and sit-ups, or tired from staying up too late playing video games and training sims, and she banned card games after teaching Wrex to play “spoons” ended in a broken table and six assorted broken fingers. So their downtime is usually spent watching vids and chatting about their home lives.

“I don't really get this movie,” admits Ashley.

“What's not to get? It's a classic!” Tali is utterly shocked.

“No, I don't really get it either,” says Kaidan. “It's like Romeo and Juliet, I guess?”

Tali reels in horror. “It's nothing like that!”

“Humans don't understand the history of turians or quarians, so it's hard for them to grasp the subtleties,” says Garrus. “But yes, it's basically Romeo and Juliet.”

“How can you say that?” Tali gives a passionate sigh. “Every girl in the flotilla grew up watching this vid. It's like a staple of growing up.”

Ashley shrugs. “My sisters and I liked martial arts movies. The really old, cheesy ones.”

“How are your sisters doing?” asks Kaidan.

“Good. God, they grow up so quickly.” She smiles wistfully. “It sucks not being around them. Not that I'm complaining! I just...ah, I miss them.”

“I miss my family, too,” says Tali. “My people. Not that I don't like being here, but it's very different than being with other quarians.”

“I miss Earth,” muses Kaidan. “The freedom to just get up and go, to feel the grass underfoot, and the rain and the snow. Being outdoors.”

The door to the lounge slides open. “There you all are,” says Shepard. “I wondered where everyone got to. Tali, when you have time, Adams was looking for you.”

“Thanks, Shepard. I'll go see him now.”

Ashley turns as Tali gets up to leave. “Skipper, what do you miss most when you're on tour?”

Surprise flits across the commander's face. “What do I miss most?”

“Yeah, we're all talking about it.”

“I guess...the food,” she replies, a hint of color appearing in her cheeks. “It's so hard to get anything fresh out here. When I lived on Mi- in the colonies, we grew every kind of fruit and vegetable you could imagine. Now I'd kill for some fresh strawberries. My mom would slice them over pound cake with a little whipped cream for special occasions. Simple stuff, you know? You take it for granted at the time. The produce is shit out in space."

The small, wistful smile that appears as she speaks is both beautiful and heartbreaking, he thinks. Ash catches his eye for a fraction of a second.

"Of course, that could just be the ten years of Alliance rations speaking," she adds with a grin, neatly covering the depth behind her confession. "I swear they get worse with every tour."

"Just out of curiosity," says Ashley, once Shepard has gone, "when is the commander's birthday?"

-

Widely regarded as the least helpful person on the ship, the requisitions officer doesn't disappoint as he stares down Ashley and Kaidan. "You want to requisition a quart of strawberries. From Mindoir." His voice is flat, incredulous, as though they've asked for him to fistfight Wrex in the mess hall instead of for something as reasonable as fruit.

"Without the commander finding out, yes."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"It's your job," says Joker over the comm. "And we're paying. So can it be done, or not?"

Shepard's birthday has come and gone, but Ashley pointed out that the anniversary of the Mindoir attacks is nearly upon them. Though Kaidan has his doubts about the tact of celebrating such a thing, Ash insists it's a gesture of goodwill, of solidarity, and that it might ease Shepard's mind to have something good happen to her that day.

However, timing is tougher to work out. Enlisting Joker's help was crucial but not all that difficult, as he too has a soft spot for Shepard, but the absurdity of their plan is thrown into focus more and more the deeper they get. Who knew that making a cake would be such a hassle?

"The next supply dock isn't for another month," muses the officer finally. "That should be plenty of time to coordinate-"

"We need them in a week."

He throws his hands up. "How the hell do you expect that to happen? Hire a private shuttle for a box of fruit? Because the commander won't notice that?"

"If we stay on our current course we'll need to dock for fuel a week from today," says Joker. "I'll put in a word with Shepard. Get them sent to the station and we'll pick them up there."

"It's gonna be close," he warns.

“We can work with close,” says Ashley. “Shepard is easily distracted by the right person.”

She grins brightly at Kaidan.

-

Normally Kaidan would be thrilled to accompany the commander on a supply run, but he can't concentrate. Ash is waiting at the docks on the other side of the station for their shipment to arrive, but the Normandy is nearly finished refueling and Shepard is showing no interest in sticking around a moment longer than necessary. Not that he blames her- there's not much to see on this station. She had glanced briefly at the selection of weapon mods, ducked into a small shop to look at model ships, and made a short call to the Council to update their situation, and is now showing him the upgrades she's made to her omni-tool as they wait near the fueling depot. It would be fascinating if he wasn't so anxious.

“You okay, Alenko?” she asks after the third time he completely fails to answer a question. “You're really jumpy. Afraid you'll run into an ex or something?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he replies. “Sorry, Commander. Just...a migraine coming on, I think.”

“You can go back to the ship. We're almost done here. You're third-wheeling my date with Wrex anyway.” She grins at the less-than-amused expression on the krogan's face.

“I'll be fine,” he replies hurriedly. “Wouldn't want to leave you exposed in case something happens.” His omni-tool blips. _STALL HER._

“You're being weird,” she says. “But thanks, I guess. I might have to fight off the fuel attendant or something, God knows no one's ever happy to see me.” She winks at the attendant, who looks appalled. “See? What is that? Like he could do better than this.” She makes an exaggerated gesture in the direction of herself. “Let's just wait on the ship.”

Wrex, who is in on the secret but not particularly invested, gives Kaidan what he assumes is a look krogan reserve for regarding the most pathetic of creatures. It's tough to read a krogan, but some things are universal.

"You ever been on this station before, Shepard?" he rumbles.

"Not exactly a routine visit on any of my tours," she replies, shaking her head.

"You had a drink here then, right?"

"It's not even lunchtime, Wrex. I'm not that much of a lush."

"Krogan tradition. The captain of a ship has to drink the first time they hit a new station. For...luck."

"Didn't think the krogan were real big on luck."

"Listen Shepard, all I'm saying is if you go back to the ship without having a drink, and we get mowed down by an enemy ship..."

"What, you'll come back from the grave as a ghost to fight my ghost?” She cackles. “Hell, I've heard worse excuses to drink."

Shepard leads the way towards the nearest bar. Wrex falls back in line with Kaidan and gives him a jab in the arm that almost knocks him off his feet. It will definitely bruise.

"That's how it's done, Alenko."

He's less pleased when they reach the bar and Shepard asks him more about krogan superstitions. Whether she is truly interested in the topic or just has an excellent bullshit detector, Kaidan doesn't know. But on the plus side, they successfully waylay Shepard into trying a few of what are possibly the worst drinks in the galaxy while Wrex gives one word answers to her questions.

"I'm pretty sure that singed off all my taste buds," she coughs, slamming her glass down to the chagrin of the bartender. "And I might be blind."

"Power through it," says Wrex. "It'll make you stronger."

"It'll make me throw up my liver!"

"Humans," he scoffs.

"No, she's right, this tastes like poison." Kaidan pushes his glass away after a cursory taste of what is possibly liquid fire. Shepard reaches for it and sips with a morbid curiosity.

"Well, it's not so bad once you can't taste anymore," she admits. "I'm hoping to regain that sense, by the by. And the vision thing." But she drains his glass as well and manages not to choke while doing it.

Ashley sends him another message. _FORTY-FIVE MINUTES._

He tries not to think about how drunk Shepard can get in that period of time and resigns himself to trying a few more horrible concoctions.

This better be worth it, Ash, he thinks, sniffing at the glass Shepard passes to him. It smells strongly of burnt hair.

It tastes much the same.

The forty-five minutes pass slowly.

-

The next morning begins another tedious day of travel, accompanied by a hangover for some. Normally days without a mission find Shepard training in the shuttle bay for a few hours, maintaining her weapons and armor, or writing reports in the lounge with an occasional snippet of conversation with nearby crew members. Today she is nowhere to be found, conspicuously absent from her usual haunts. It's a good thing, in a way- it allows them access to the kitchens without any questions, but Ash is concerned by the time dinner rolls around.

"Do you think she's okay?"

"It's been almost 15 years since Mindoir," says Kaidan. "She's come to terms with it enough that she's not going to do anything drastic. I'm sure she just wants her privacy to reflect on her losses."

"Maybe this was a stupid idea. She's a private person. She doesn't like sharing her feelings with the rest of us."

"She'll appreciate the thought," he assures her.

"I've never made a cake in the military before," she says with a conspiratorial laugh as they sit down in the mess. "You know how the ads always go on about putting your skills and talents to use in the Alliance? Not what I was expecting."

He chuckles. Liara sits across from them, absent of her usual datapad, face flushed with excitement.

"I just saw her on the way down," she confides, just as Shepard walks through the door.

"Act natural," mutters Ash, and they all bend over their trays. From his vantage point, Kaidan can see the commander, her face drawn and tired, accept her tray from the server. For a moment she doesn't react, eyes absent and far-away, then she pauses. Her expression doesn't change, but he recognizes the look in her eyes, the same calculating stare she wears in battle, as she regards the slice of cake topped with strawberries that has unexpectedly appeared on her tray.

"Who did this?" Her voice is flat and soft and dangerous. Ash goes pale and Kaidan averts his eyes quickly to his own meal while Liara hurriedly brings her glass of water to her lips.

Not quite the reaction we'd hoped for, he thinks, as Shepard slowly turns her head to stare at the three of them, like a bird of prey eyeing up its next meal. The commander can unravel the chain of events behind a conclusion better than anyone he's ever met, and he sees it in action now.

"Who did this?" she asks again, louder. Her voice is shaking, still brimming with anger.

Ashley stands up. "We did, ma'am. It was...my idea, I just thought maybe you could...use a nice memory on a day like today."

"We were in on it, too," says Kaidan, not about to let her take the fall by herself if Shepard decides to completely lose it.

She stares at them for a moment, expression unreadable. The unhelpful voice in Kaidan's head wonders if she's ever thrown anyone out an airlock before. Then she sets her tray down carefully, turns on the spot, and walks briskly from the room.

He, Ash and Liara trade uncomfortable looks.

"That went to hell a lot quicker than I expected," says Ash.

"I don't understand," says Liara. "Is she upset with us?"

But Shepard returns almost immediately, bottle in hand, and grabs her tray before joining them at the table, thunking down next to Liara.

"I need glasses and cake over here," she calls to the steward. "I knew you guys had some little secret mission going on," she tells the three of them as she uncorks the bottle, "but it never occurred to me that you'd do something like this. Cake. Honestly."

Her attempted flippant tone is at odds with the smile that creeps across her face, and her words come out thick with emotion. Relief settles over the three of them as she pours them each a glass of wine.

"No one ever remembers the incident on Mindoir," she says. "Oh, the Alliance will bring it up in their list of grievances against the batarians, use it as a bargaining chip in their politics, but there's less than a handful that can tell you the date it happened. I understand why. It wasn't that significant of an event compared to all the other shit humanity's been through in the last twenty years. A few hundred farmers get killed or captured by slavers, so what? And there aren't a helluva lot of people who lived through it. So every year it passes by, and I'm the only...the only one who..."

Trailing off, she takes a long drink of the wine to cover the break in her voice.

"I appreciate this," she says, when she's composed herself again. "That's what I'm trying to say. You have no idea how much it means to me, just for someone else to acknowledge what happened today."

"Mindoir," says Ash, holding out her glass, and Shepard smiles at her with so much appreciation that Kaidan is nearly jealous. The four of them tap glasses and drink.

Shepard starts laughing when they set their glasses down, spearing a piece of strawberry on her fork. "I cannot believe this. Fucking strawberries. You guys are too much. Turn my back for an hour and you're smuggling fucking strawberries onto my ship." She pops the fruit into her mouth and makes a sound that sends an inappropriate heat flaring through Kaidan's body.

"My God, that's so..." She swipes the back of her hand across her eyes to wipe away the tears there.

"Is it okay?" asks Liara tentatively, unsure what to make of the tears.

"It's perfect," confirms Shepard, her mouth full. "Just like I remember. Never let me complain about you guys being kiss-asses again, all right? I'm totally fine with it." She dabs at her eyes again and beams at them.

The wine doesn't last long between the four of them. It's surprisingly strong stuff. Kaidan wonders if Shepard meant to drink the bottle herself, alone in her quarters. Thinking about it plants an ache deep in his chest. Shepard tells them all about the farming community she grew up in, the best conditions for growing strawberries and the competition between the farmers, a grin stuck on her face, the wine leaving a pretty blush in her cheeks. When the bottle is finished, Liara shyly offers up a bottle of her own, and they drink again to their families, to home and to good wine.

"To strawberries!" says Shepard, and dissolves into laughter. "To getting tipsy on the Alliance's dime!"

"I think I'm well beyond that," says Ashley, standing up from the table and swaying a little. "If I don't get to bed now I won't be up til noon."

"Is it that late?" asks Shepard in surprise. "Time passes strangely on a ship. Good night, then, Williams." She stands as well and holds her arms out to Ash, squeezing her tightly and planting a kiss on her cheek. "And thank you."

Ash goes pink. Well beyond tipsy indeed, thinks Kaidan with amusement. He burns off alcohol more quickly than most, thanks to his biotics, and when he glances at Liara he is sure she does as well. She's the next to stand, and Shepard gives her a similar sendoff. Over Shepard's shoulder, Liara allows a small, meaningful smile that makes his stomach twist.

"Do me a favor and don't mention this to Anderson, all right?" says Shepard, sinking back onto the bench next to Kaidan. She's still pink in the face, humor writ large over her features. "I know we're allowed alcohol in moderation, but I think I may have crossed the line."

"I don't think a once-a-year memorial is going to bother him," he replies. "Are you all right?"

She fixes him with a stare. He's struck by how lovely she is with her guard down, her face open and inviting, the color in her cheeks and the spark of amusement in her eyes. It's such a difference from her usual demeanor.

He's nervous to bid her goodnight. While he won't deny that he'd like her to hug him, for the kiss on the cheek, he feels dirty for thinking about accepting it.

"I'm fine, Alenko," she says, and her voice is calmer than it's been all night. "I really do appreciate what you guys did for me. It occurs to me that maybe I shouldn't have accepted it, that it's some kind of favoritism, but you guys are my team, you know? You're my crew, yeah, but there's something...more to it than that."

"You're a good commander," he says.

"Do you want to see something?" she asks suddenly.

"I...sure." He doesn't know what she's planning, but doesn't want to say no regardless. She stands, her fingers closing on his arm, and he follows her out of the mess.

He pauses when they stop outside her quarters, afraid they've gone too far, but she doesn't invite him in. She asks him to wait, then ducks into the room and returns with something clutched in her hand. In the dim hall lighting he glimpses a photograph, old and worn, the edges torn. A man and a woman and their smiling daughter, young and happy. Shepard is probably nine or ten in the photo, a blend of her parents. He can see the features he knows so well on Shepard in her parents' faces: her father's proud nose, her mother's full lips.

"They'd never believe this," chuckles Shepard. "Their little girl commanding the best frigate in the Alliance, on a mission to save the galaxy, working with aliens every day and not batting an eye. They were good, hard-working people."

"I'm sorry for what happened to them," he says.

"Better dead than what the batarians did to the survivors," she says, the good humor vanishing from her face. "The Traverse was never the safe place the Alliance wanted it to be."

"Did you ever go back?"

She shakes her head. "I never want to see that place again. They invite me every year, you know. The new colony. Some publicity thing, but I...I can't go back. There's nothing left for me there."

Her fingers slide tenderly over the photo, then she seems to snap back to reality.

“They always send me a bottle of wine, though,” she adds. "Anyway. I should go. It's late."

He nods. "Good night, Commander."

"It's all right if you call me Shepard," she says softly. She leans in, then pauses. "Is it weird if I hug you?"

"If it's all right with you, it's all right with me."

She slides her arms around him. It's a little awkward; he can feel the way she tries to keep their bodies from pressing together while simultaneously pulling him close. He doesn't want to make it uncomfortable for her, so he settles for a half-hug, squeezing her at the shoulders, and it seems to work.

"Thank you for tonight," she whispers. Her lips barely brush his cheek, and then she's out of his arms. "Good night, Kaidan."

He tries to remember when she started calling him by his first name. It makes his heart flutter nonetheless.


	11. Chapter 11

2183 – SSV Normandy – Noveria

 

"I picked up some mods from that hanar on Noveria," says Shepard, settling down near Ash at the weapons bench. "Didn't you mention an overheating issue?"

"You remembered," says Ash with a smile. "Appreciate it, Commander. Did you talk to Liara?"

"I stopped by to offer my condolences. She asked to be left alone for a while."

"Poor thing." Ashley clicks her tongue sympathetically. "Tough to lose a parent. Even when you're over a hundred."

"I wish we could have done something to save her. Maybe if we'd gotten there sooner..."

"I feel bad for Liara, but Benezia should have realized what she was doing. A matriarch should have enough common sense not to get involved with anyone who thinks geth have the right idea." Ashley deftly disassembles her assault rifle, heedless of the grease. Shepard does likewise with her sniper rifle, settling into the old routine of cleaning the weapon that she knows by heart. But something is missing.

"I thought Alenko would be down here, too," she says. "You two are usually together after a mission."

"I think he's still in the medbay. Migraine. Tossing giant bugs around with your mind takes a toll on a guy, I guess."

"I'll have to thank him. I'm grateful for every throw that got one of those things further away from me."

Ashley chuckles. "Yeah, I believe your exact words were 'holy fucking shit I do not make enough to deal with this.'"

"I stand by it." Shepard shudders. "Sometimes I wonder if the universe is just playing a giant joke on us. Finally make it to space and what do we find? Thresher maws and rachni."

"And geth," Ashley reminds her. "Don't forget the geth."

"And husks."

"You know, it might be you, Commander. I never saw any of those things til you showed up," she teases.

"Lucky me," says Shepard wryly.

"So did you come down here for girl talk?" asks Ashley. "We can braid each others hair and talk about boys, or whatever happens during those sessions. Something like that? I didn't get invited to a lot of sleepovers as a kid."

"Nor did I. Anyway, I'm just fine with gun talk," Shepard chuckles.

"Probably for the best. Your hair is too short to braid, and none of my exes are worth talking about. You have anyone special at home, Skipper?"

She shakes her head. "No one special, and no real home, either. One's the reason for the other, I think. I'm not any good at the whole relationship thing."

Ash glances up from her half-modded gun. "No? You probably scare them off, right? Er...because of your rank, I mean."

Removing the scope, Shepard only smiles. "Thanks, Chief. No, I just never let myself get committed. Too much has happened in my past to people I cared about. Mindoir, Akuze...I just don't want to go through that again. Making an emotional connection, putting all that time and effort into loving someone just to lose them? It's too hard."

"Well, I get that, but...what's the point of living if you don't have people you care about?"

"I do what I can to make the galaxy a better place. Isn't that all we can do? And I do care- I care about everyone on this ship. But people tend to get hurt around me. If keeping that from happening means I journey alone, that's how it has to be."

A frown twists Ashley's lips. "You only have a limited amount of time in life. You can't stop all the bad things from happening, but that doesn't mean you should avoid the good things. Seems to me a person would break from the strain. I don't know if you believe in a higher power, but surely surviving Mindoir and Akuze means you're destined for something greater."

"I don't know, Ash. At the end of the day all I believe is that shit happens no matter what we do."

"At least try to make some of it good shit," says Ashley. "Do things that make you happy once in awhile. I feel like...you're a friend, and I care about what happens to you. Ma'am," she adds, as if unsure of the boundaries.

“You don't have to worry about me. I'm exactly where I want to be. The higher I rise in the Alliance, the more I can do to prevent things like the attack on Mindoir. I'm not hurting for anything, least of all a relationship.”

“I didn't mean to imply that you were.” Ash looks so abashed that Shepard feels bad, and remembers belatedly how it feels to be in her position.

“I know you didn't,” she replies gently. “Hey, are you familiar with how to install a kinetic coil? I could use some help, if you don't mind.”

Grateful, Ash nods. “Of course.”

They work in companionable silence for a while. A sudden chill runs through Shepard, and she shivers.

“Still cold?”

“Yeah. Noveria's the coldest I've been since N training. Mindoir barely got below freezing. I wish we had a hot tub on this ship- the showers aren't nearly warm enough.”

A slight smile turns the corners of Ashley's lips. “Is that why you're wearing Kaidan's sweatshirt, ma'am?”

Shepard pulls it around herself defensively. “He left it in the mess, so it's mine now. Commander's privilege.”

“He'd probably let you keep it, too.”

“What do you mean by that?” Shepard keeps her tone light.

“Nothing, ma'am. The two of you get on well, is all.”

“He's a far better person than I could be,” replies Shepard.

“I don't know, Skipper. He's rational, but sometimes situations don't call for rational. We could probably talk down half the mercs we deal with, but it's easier to kill them and be done with it, onto our goal.”

“Something you and I have in common,” says Shepard with a grin. “He thinks, we react.”

“Makes us a good team,” agrees Ashley. “Just...remember that, okay? He's not great at expressing himself, but you can be sure he's thought it all out beforehand.”

“Don't put him on the spot, in other words. Where is this coming from?”

Ashley shrugs. “He's a good friend, and...look, you know how he is, and I think you know how he feels about you. I just don't want him getting hurt, regardless of your...feelings on the matter.”

“Ah.” She rubs the casing with a damp rag, pretending not to see the embarrassment on Ashley's face. “You could have just come out and said it, Chief. Does everyone on the ship know, or..?”

“I think everyone with a pair of eyes knows, ma'am,” she replies, and Shepard laughs.

“He's a good friend to me, too,” she says. “But more importantly, he's a subordinate, and that means that our relationship can't go anywhere beyond professional. Not as long as we're on this ship. We both know that.”

Relief spreads across Ashley's face; it's clear she's been hoping to say this for some time. “I'm glad to hear that, Commander, and I don't want you to think I'm meddling or prying...”

“I'm glad you two are such close friends,” Shepard replies. “And I understand how hard it must have been to do the 'break his heart and I'll come after you' routine with your commanding officer.” She laughs again. “It's sweet, but I can't throw away my career on a pretty face.”

“You're smarter than that,” agrees Ashley. “He does have a pretty face though, doesn't he?” she adds, lowering her voice.

“And a perfect behind.”

They dissolve into laughter over the weapons bench. It's a warm, companionable feeling that Shepard has had too little of in her life, a kinship that she's been hesitant to open herself to. It's worth it, she thinks, matching Ashley's smile across the table.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

2183 - Ontarom

 

There's a very particular smell about thunderstorms, the hint of ozone in the air, and Shepard doesn't need Joker to tell her about the storm system bearing down on them as they exit the Mako into the hot and humid Ontarom weather. She can feel it coming as though she already sees it, a sweeping tropical storm blowing in from the west. She puts her helmet on and seals it against the heat, adjusts the climate control of her suit, and signals her team to follow.

Akuze seems so long ago, but it's been popping up more and more lately, a demon from her past she somehow can't escape. Kahoku's team, killed the same way as her own, and the timing of this mission coincide into a roiling boil in her stomach, a theory that looks more and more valid the longer she considers it, a truth that will hurt her worse than the incident itself.

She hopes she's wrong.

"I want Williams and Garrus on point," she says. "Alenko, with me. Hold fire until I give the signal. Let's hope it won't be necessary."

Kaidan falls into line beside her while Ash and Garrus approach the door to the facility. From the outside, all is silent, but all signals indicate something waiting for them on the other side.

No one speaks, no pre-mission chatter, just a tight, tense silence that she is grateful for. Her nerves are wound tight and she knows she'll snap on the first person to make a dumb comment, but they have all grown close enough that they can sense it. A good crew.

"Let's go," she says.

As expected, mercenaries are already there, trashing the science labs, and they turn their weapons on Shepard and her crew when they are spotted. Shepard gives them one chance to leave. None take it.

"I really hate mercs," she mutters when they've pushed through the forces, leaving bodies and blood in their wake.

"Reading movement," says Ashley. "Down the hall and to the right."

"Two heat signatures," confirms Kaidan.

"Roger that. Lead the way, Williams."

Whatever Shepard was expecting to find in that room, it was never this. In a million dimensions she might have opened the door, and not in one would the man on the other side not come as a shocking blow to her.

"Stay back!" Toombs has a gun to the head of a cowering man in a lab uniform, a brutal fury in his eyes that she knows so well. "All I want is this bastard dead."

With trembling hands, Shepard stows her weapon and takes off her helmet. "Toombs. It's me."

For a moment, she fears it was the wrong move. But then the recognition dawns on Toomb's face, almost a decade older than when she saw him die but familiar nonetheless, lined and scarred by the passage of time.

"Shepard? That's not...it can't be you."

"I think that's my line here. I don't...I saw you die. I know you died. Everyone did."

She can't argue that it's him, though. His face has haunted her dreams often enough over the past seven years to recognize it.

"I didn't die. These...scientists found me, kidnapped me. Spent years running tests on me." There's a blaze in his eyes and a tremor in his arm as he keeps his pistol squarely on the scientist's head. "Tortured me. They were running tests on Akuze, on the thresher maws. They set them on us. All of those people dead because of him!"

"You're crazy!" protests the scientist as puzzle pieces fit themselves together within Shepard's head, adding fuel to the suddenly roaring fire racing through her veins. "You have no proof!"

"I was there," snaps Shepard. "And I saw what you did on Edolus. Didn't get the right results the first time, so you repeated your little experiment. Cerberus, right?"

The flicker of surprise on the scientist's face is all the proof she needs. The hot fury in her stomach boils over.

"Kill him."

Toombs grins savagely. The familiar burn of adrenaline mixed with vengeance blazes through her, and she remembers the agony of dragging herself out of the camp seven years ago, the broken bones and burns, the mental scars that never quite healed no matter what she did. Her fingers find the scar across her eyebrow and trace it unconsciously. _Smoke in her lungs, blood in her mouth, drawing breath through broken ribs and stumbling over bodies to-_

"Commander!"

Kaidan's voice. She almost turns on him, almost tells him to shut the fuck up, to mind his fucking business. Her body burns for revenge, and the struggle to fight it is almost as bad as the struggle to get to the landing zone all those years ago. There's nothing she wants more, nothing she's ever wanted more than for this man to die.

Both Garrus and Ashley are eager to see justice carried out. They're like her, she knows, eye for an eye is the way they see the universe, and she agrees. But not him. Kaidan's voice is pleading. _You're better than this. Better than them._

She hates that he's right.

"Wait. I can't let you kill him," she says. It actually hurts to say it.

Toombs nearly staggers. "You don't understand, Shepard. I have to do this. For what they did to me, what they did to you, what they did to our unit! You got to walk away. You got to live."

_I understand. God, do I understand._

"I didn't walk away. I fought and struggled out of there, and I've fought and struggled since, just to live. You have to do the same. It's hard, I won't lie. But if you kill him, you're forfeiting the chance to live again. You saved me back then, Toombs. If it wasn't for you, I'd have died there like all the others. So let me return the favor. Let me take him into custody. He'll answer for his crimes. You can stop another Akuze from happening, Corporal."

The scientist looks cautiously grateful. Shepard still wants to kill him, and not quickly, make him suffer like she's suffered, like Toombs has suffered, but-

Defeated, Toombs lets his weapon drop. "Fine. I don't...I don't want to be a murderer. I just want all of this to be over. Maybe then the screaming will stop."

_It won't_ , thinks Shepard. _It never will_. "They can't hurt you anymore," she says instead. "Garrus, I want that man arrested. Williams, radio Joker for a Fifth Fleet pickup."

There's a lack of delicacy in the way Garrus cuffs the scientist, but she doesn't protest. Toombs looks lost without his goal accomplished, and Shepard approaches him cautiously.

"You really did save my life," she tells him softly.

"I told you that you'd get out of there. You made something of yourself, Shepard. I'm...glad to see that."

She swallows. "There hasn't been a day since then I haven't thought about you. If I would have known...fuck, I'm just glad to see you alive."

"Same to you, kid," he says, voice rough, and hugs her. She gives a little half-laugh, returning the embrace, fighting back an onslaught of emotions at his touch.

"If there's anything I can do for you...anything I can help with..."

"You did enough," he replies.

When the Fifth Fleet officers arrive, she bids him goodbye and collects her crew. Garrus and Ashley head out to the Mako, but Kaidan hesitates.

"Commander," he starts, but she shakes her head.

"I'm fine," she assures him, and touches his shoulder. "Better than I have been in a while, actually. Come on. Last I checked, we still had a mission to complete."

He smiles behind his visor. "Aye, aye, ma'am."

It's freeing, she thinks, as they step into the decontamination chamber and wait for the bright light to sear the foreign material from their suits. If there was a moment when she could finally let go of Akuze, maybe this is it, a sign that it's time to move on, that it's time to think about other things, other directions for her life. She's never dwelled- not exactly, but it had always remained in the background, a constant reminder of loss, of what failure might bring. But finding Toombs alive, finding those responsible for the second-worst tragedy in her life and bringing them to justice...

It gives her reason to hope.

It reminds her that there's a future to be had, and that she might, after all, be in control of it, and that she might...

“I'm starved,” says Kaidan, taking off his helmet as they move into the shuttle bay.

“You're always starving,” replies Ashley, rolling her eyes. “I'm going to get a shower first, like a civilized human being.”

Kaidan meets her eyes. “Heading to the mess, Commander?” he asks.

“There's nowhere else I'd rather be,” she says, and means it.

 


	13. Chapter 13

2183 - Casbin

 

“Well,” says Kaidan to his stunned colleagues, “we didn't die.”

The Mako makes a groaning sound as though arguing its case.

“We weren't going to _die_ ,” scoffs Shepard. “Give me a little credit.”

“With all due respect, you rammed the Mako into a Geth Armature. Repeatedly,” adds Garrus.

Tali cuts in. "It was...unnerving, to say the least."

“It was under control,” argues Shepard, unstrapping herself from her seat belts. “I've run over way bigger things than that. Come on, I want to mark that uranium deposit before we leave. And, uh...there might be a few scratches on the Mako, if you wanna slap some omni-gel on that, Tali.”

“I don't think the creator of the Mako ever anticipated the paces you'd put it through,” says Kaidan as they exit the vehicle.

Shepard shrugs. “Still got all its wheels, doesn't it? What do you think, Garrus?”

“You are a terrible driver,” decides Garrus, looking critically over the sizable gouge in the Mako's driver side. There are several scorched areas from geth weaponry, and the nose is decidedly bent. “You realize I'm the one who ends up fixing it when this happens, right? We're going to need to restock omni-gel before we head to the next system.”

“Just out of curiosity, did you ever actually learn to drive?” asks Tali.

“I drove tractors,” says Shepard defensively. “It's basically the same thing.”

“It's really not,” says Garrus.

“Oh, screw you guys. One of you can drive back. Tali, call Joker for pickup. This way, Alenko, let's check out that deposit.”

They trek across the dirt and lichen, overlapping the gouges left by their tire tracks in the planet's virgin ground. Kaidan gives her a sidelong glance.

“You know this is a protected world, right?”

“I'm sure the Council will forgive me for stopping the Geth colonizing it,” she replies. Then she pauses, helmeted head craning up towards the sky. When her voice comes through again, it's via private communication, like she's speaking into his ear.

“It's beautiful here, isn't it?”

There's nothing to argue there. Sunset on Casbin, the sky full of fire as chunks of debris burn up in the atmosphere. A meteor shower of epic proportions. Kaidan has seen many worlds but the thrill of discovery remains, the raw aching beauty of the universe still takes his breath away, and he's glad that Shepard feels the same. She's silent for some time as they stand together and stare at the streaks of light dancing across the sky from horizon to horizon.

“Do you ever wish...you could just freeze a moment in time and stay there forever?”

He tries very hard to keep his pulse from reacting, all too aware that she can see his vital signs. He turns his head very slightly to look at her, to see her standing silhouetted in the sunset's glow, surrounded by shooting stars, and he knows exactly what she means.

Their hands touch. He's not sure if she moved closer or if he did, but neither pull away. Two of his fingers rest gently against two of hers and he's suddenly glad for the gloves and armor and helmets between them because he's not sure if he could stop himself from kissing her.

“Say something, Alenko,” she says, her voice low, husky, and oh, there goes his heart. “Even if it's that I'm being inappropriate.”

He hasn't really believed it before then, hasn't let himself think that she might be serious, that her gentle flirting is anything but harmless fun. He's hoped, yes, daydreamed more than once about it, but this tiny gesture seals it as a real thing, exciting and slightly terrifying.

“I'm really great at ruining moments like this,” he says. “So if it's all the same to you, I won't say anything.”

But he squeezes her hand, and though he can't see her smile, he can hear it in her voice when she speaks again.

“Fair enough,” she says. “Take your time thinking it over and wow me with something insightful later, okay?”

“Just so you two know,” Garrus's wry voice breaks in, “you're broadcasting over the Mako's radio. Thought I should stop you before you say anything really embarrassing.”

He lets go of her hand like it's on fire, heat crawling up his neck. "I thought I fixed that."

“Speaking of ruining moments,” says Shepard, amused. “Back to work, Alenko. Don't think you're off the hook, though.”

He's in a daze the rest of the night.

 


	14. Chapter 14

2183 – Virmire

 

When he sees the dropship, he knows it's all over.

He's not afraid to die, not really, but he wishes he could have seen Earth one last time, wishes he'd written back to his mother more often, wishes he'd kissed Shepard, just once, regs be damned; hell, kissed her silly while he's wishing. He wonders if she'll mourn for him, if she'll speak highly of him to his parents when she delivers the news. She won't deliver it in person, he's sure, not with everything that's going on, but maybe she'll make the funeral, pay her respects to his empty grave because this is where his body will lie, in the perpetually stormy tropics of Virmire. A slow, deep breath. Geth land heavily nearby and their strange mechanical chatter reaches his ears. _Keep it together, Alenko. Bring her home._ He finds his radio and reports.

Her voice is crisp and commanding in his ear. Is he imagining the underlying emotion, the fear and anger mixed and inexpertly hidden beneath a tone that can't tremble, can't shake at this crucial moment?

"We can't hold them off," he tells her. Already he can see there are too many for him to handle, their metallic bodies shining in the sunlight, glinting off their weapons and their alert faces as they seek him out. There's only one option. "I'm arming the bomb."

"What are you doing?" Shepard screams at him, but it's too late to stop. The interface accepts his commands and begins to blare a warning, counting down the minutes he has left to live. A cold finality settles in his stomach, but he swallows it down. He will die here on Virmire, in service to the Alliance, under Shepard's command, and that's okay.

"Making sure this bomb goes off. No matter what." Gunfire erupts around him, shields rippling with the impacts as he ducks into cover. "It's done, Commander. Get Williams and get out of here."

Ash's voice bites back like he knew it would. "Screw that, we can handle ourselves! Go back and get Alenko!"

He leans out of cover to fire off a few shots even as his shields fizzle and drop. He summons his strength to bring up a biotic barrier instead to buy himself a few more minutes. Just enough for him to die fighting, taking down the geth bastards to the very end. _Watch the timing, don't let it overheat, lift and throw._ At least he doesn't have to worry about triggering a migraine- he won't be alive to deal with it. He laughs, a little strangely, a little hysterically.

"Alenko," says Shepard, and he can hear the defeat in her voice. He wants to tell her it will be okay, that he made his decision, that he wouldn't have it any other way, and will she please call him by his first name again, one last time, but she continues before he can say anything. "Radio Joker and tell him to meet us at the bomb site."

He's stunned enough that he goes stock-still and a geth bullet cuts through his barrier, missing his shoulder by inches. "I...yes, Commander."

"I'm sorry, Ash," says Shepard's voice, and it's only then that the realization sets in, what Shepard intends to do. "I had to make a call."

Ashley's voice doesn't even waver when she replies. "I understand, Commander. I don't regret a thing."

"Ashley," he says, and his voice is choked suddenly.

"You know it's the right choice, LT," she replies. “I'll put in a good word for you upstairs. Take care of her for me, all right?”

“Ash, I can't...”

“You can and you will. Now get the hell out of here while you still can!”

Defeated, he raises Joker on the radio. There's no time to do anything but follow orders: the geth are still dropping in and his barrier is weak. He's seconds away from being pinned down when Garrus and Wrex burst through the gate, Shepard on their heels with her sniper rifle raised. Dizzy with relief, he lets his barrier drop, the strength sapped from his body, and that's when Saren shows up.

Whether intentional or merely crossfire, he takes a hit to his left side and falls to the ground in agony, water sloshing up to his waist, swirled with blood. His hardsuit computer beeps its distress signal but the ceramic is shattered and the undersuit torn too badly for the medi-gel to reach the wound. He grits his teeth and raises his pistol to assist, heedless of the blinding pain. Over the radio Ashley yells at them to get out, behind him the bomb ticks down to its final sequence with ear-splitting blasts, and Saren grabs Shepard by the throat and there's not a goddamn thing he can do about it.

Everything blurs together and the next thing he knows, Shepard is standing over him, reaching down to help him up, but he's too badly injured to move.

“Leave me,” he tells her, words drowned out by the sound of the bomb, but if she understands him she pays no heed. She hauls him to his feet and into a fireman's carry before he even has the chance to marvel at her strength, the world tilting dizzily onto its side.

“What about Ashley?” he shouts. She doesn't answer.

Once they're in the decontamination chamber, Shepard's strength fails and she lowers him to the ground with less a gentle movement and more of a lost grip on a man twice her size, but he hardly notices hitting the floor, the fire racing through his wound. Shepard slumps against the wall and takes her helmet off, staring down at her hands.

"Ash," he calls into the radio. He pulls his helmet off, presses the earpiece into his ear, trying to hear something other than static. "Ashley!"

"She's dead, Lieutenant." Shepard's face is like stone. The blue light of the decon beam casts her features into harsh shadow. "She was dead before we got on the ship."

The Normandy lurches into takeoff. The remaining salarians stumble into each other. Wrex and Garrus steady themselves against the wall.

“She can't be dead.”

"She gave her life to save us," says one of the salarians tentatively.

"Why didn't you get her out?" says Kaidan, rounding on him. “You should have done something!”

"That's enough," says Shepard impassively, and he hates her right then, suddenly and fiercely. How dare she act like nothing's wrong, how dare she sit there beside him without the barest hint of emotion on her face?

"You left her!” he shouts at her. “You left her behind!"

It's the wrong thing to say, and he knows it the moment the words leave his lips. All the emotion she was lacking comes rushing back, and there's a miniature mirror of the nuclear bomb they're outrunning come to life in her eyes as she turns on him and utterly snaps.

"I didn't have a choice!" she screams. "What the _fuck_ do you want from me, Alenko?!"

"You had a choice! You should have left me instead! She was just a kid, Shepard!"

She throws her helmet on the ground with a metallic _clang_ and for a moment he thinks she’s going to lunge at him, hit him, but she doesn’t. "She was a soldier, and so are you! Do you have a fucking death wish? Control yourself, and if you ever question my decisions again I'll drop you off at the next fuel depot to hitchhike back to Arcturus!"

He's crying and he can't bring himself to stop, remembering the uncertainty on Ash's face as she'd walked off with the salarian team, the finality in her voice when she'd said goodbye. He was prepared to die- he should have died in her place.

"You're wounded," says Shepard, kneeling beside him. She's not yelling anymore: her voice is hollow. "Let's get your armor off."

“Don't touch me,” he snaps, and her fingers freeze against the clasps of his suit for the barest moment, but she continues like he hadn't spoken. It really is heavy, he realizes. Everything is heavy all of a sudden.

He doesn't fight as she unfastens the plates of his hardsuit, her face composed again, expressionless and determined. He's still incensed, but the adrenaline is wearing off and leaving exhaustion in its wake. There's blood all over the floor as the decon cycle completes and he belatedly realizes it's his own, and that he doesn't care. The weight of hardsuit plates falls away slowly, but his limbs are just as heavy without them. Shepard holds up her gloved hands, slick with his blood, and goes pale.

“He's bleeding out,” someone says.

Shepard yells into her radio for a med team as she strips him down.

"Stay with me, Kaidan," she says tersely. He's down to his undersuit and she's rubbing medi-gel into his side, keeping eye contact, keeping him focused on her. "I can't lose you, too. Stay with me."

"Why didn't you leave me?" he whispers, and her face, that cool and confident facade, absolutely crumbles.

"I could never leave you behind," she says, her voice breaking. "You know that."

 

-

 

It's late when Shepard creeps into the medbay, footsteps soft, her shadow sliding behind her in the dim light. She and Chakwas converse in low voices near the door. Shepard's silhouette on the wall pulls the shadow of her shirt over her head, and Kaidan closes his eyes, trying not to listen to the sounds of the doctor patching her up.

He hears her hiss in pain and the doctor's quiet admonishments. It's the usual song and dance: Shepard never comes to the medbay early enough unless she's spitting up blood. No doubt she powered through her injuries to make the calls to the Council, to Anderson, to Ash's family. He doesn't envy her that responsibility, doesn't know how anyone can do it when the wound of Ashley's death is so fresh and raw. But Shepard is strong, and even if she is broken she'll keep it together.

Chakwas settles the commander on a cot across the room, and they bid each other a good night. The light near the door vanishes as she departs for a well-deserved rest.

He is silent. Shepard has one more thing she'll do tonight, he knows. She's nothing if not predictable, and a moment later he is proven correct, as the sound of her rolling off her cot reaches his ears.

The gait of her silhouette is off, strangely hesitant as she moves closer, not the purposeful stride he's used to. She reaches out to touch his shoulder, then thinks better of it, letting her hand fall by her side.

"Are you awake?" she asks softly.

"For the rest of my life, probably," he replies.

"Yeah."

She sits heavily on the edge of his cot and her face is thrown into the light. Exhaustion mingles with defeat, sadness battles with stubbornness. There's a cut across her cheek and a dark ring of bruises around her neck, purple under her collar.

"How are you?"

"It would be pretty ungrateful to complain about something this minor," he says, glancing down at the bandage on his side.

"Regardless. I want to know you're okay."

"It's fine."

She shifts. "And not just about the wound. How are you, really?"

"I don't think I've ever felt worse in my life."

"Yeah." She gazes past him, eyes glassy. "Listen. I need to clarify something I said before. My decisions on Virmire don't reflect anything except cold tactical appraisal. If you had been in Ash's position, I would've had to leave you. It's a matter of chance that you weren't. You didn't survive today because of anything you've said or done, or because of any extra feelings we might harbor for each other. If, God forbid, I'd have to lose you to stop Saren, I'd do it. It would cut me to pieces, Alenko, don't get me wrong, but I'd have no choice. And I'd expect the same from you. If we're ever in a situation and I give you an order, even if it results in my death, you must obey it. There are regs in place for a reason, and we may be skirting a thin line with them in our private time, but out there? The mission has to come first. Always. You understand that?"

She doesn't look at him.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says cautiously.

“So long as you do,” she replies.

He knows what she's doing. He'd seen the look on her face upstairs after she slipped, after she overstepped in front of the rest of the team.

_I could never leave you behind. You know that._

She's giving him a chance to shake his share of the blame. To pretend it was luck or fate or something else that had saved him. To free him of the guilt he'll carry on his shoulders for the rest of his life.

It doesn't help, not really, but he loves her for it.

“That said,” she continues finally, “I'm really glad you're okay. I've never...never had to make a call like that with someone so close to me. I try to be friendly with the team, you know, but Ash was one of the few I'd call a friend.”

“I wish that-”

“Please don't say it,” whispers Shepard.

He doesn't. But he would have given up his life for Ash's in a heartbeat.

"It was my fault, Commander," he says. "I didn't wait for your approval on the bomb."

"You made a call, just like I did," she says sharply. "It was the right call. The bomb had to go off and there was no time to waste. I don't have any use for soldiers who don't use their brains. Standing around with your thumb up your ass while the place was being swarmed wouldn't have helped anyone. We'd have all probably been killed trying to get back to the ship."

"I...yes, ma'am."

“We'll be at the Citadel soon,” she says, her voice growing softer, “and I'll pay for us all to get shitfaced, but for right now, while it's just you and me...a drink to her memory?”

“I'd like that,” he says as she pulls a flask out of her pocket and unscrews the top.

She throws her head back, grimaces as she takes a pull, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before passing the flask to him. The faint smell of whiskey wafts between them.

"You have good taste," he murmurs. It's a good burn in his throat, a warm compress on the tightness in his chest. "To a hell of a soldier."

"And a hell of a friend," she replies.

They finish the whiskey between them. It's a pleasant feeling, made better by her presence, and it takes the bitter edge off the helpless pain and frustration of the mission's aftermath. Shepard sits with her shoulders slumped, her eyes faraway.

"I really thought she'd make it back," she says after a while, tongue loosened by the alcohol. "I thought she'd get away, make it to the ship, make it out with us. She was a fighter. And I just...fucking left her there."

"There was nothing else you could have done," he says, although it's a lie. She could have gone to Ashley, could have left him with the bomb, secure in the knowledge that it would have gone off no matter what. He wouldn't have resented her for it like he knows Ash wouldn't have. Is it selfish to be glad she didn't? “I'm sorry that I blamed you for it. I didn't mean...”

“Heat of the moment, yeah,” replies Shepard. “Same here. It was rough for both of us.”

“What did Anderson say?”

“Same old story. He's sure I did what was necessary for the mission.” She takes a shuddering breath. "God, and when I told her mom...it's like she already knew." A hand slides through her hair, forehead resting against her palm. "I could hear her sisters start crying in the background. There aren't even words that suffice in a call like that. 'Your daughter died a hero.' No one wants to hear that."

He knows, he remembers how jumpy his mother got when his father was away, how the color would drain from her face when the phone would ring in the middle of the night, and how he learned to dread the sound himself.

Now her eyes are glistening. He barely has time to register the change in her expression before she buries her face in her hands, elbows propped on her knees, and he has absolutely no idea what to do. Comforting a friend? Sure, that's easy. Comforting your tough-as-nails commanding officer who is, alarmingly, openly sobbing in front of another living person for possibly the first time in history? Another story altogether.

Thankfully, Shepard turns out to be human after all.

He scoots to the edge of the cot and wraps her in a hug. Instead of pulling away, her arms tighten around his back like a vise, fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt, and she lets herself cry into the hollow between his neck and shoulder. She's deceptively small in his arms, vulnerable in a way he's never seen her before. It's comforting to know that even Shepard has a breaking point.

Her hair is soft under his cheek, her body warm against his. They're both tired and hurt, smelling like blood and sweat and medi-gel. Right now they aren't soldiers, hardened against loss and pain, bound by duty to pack away their grief for a more convenient time. Right now they're just people, friends, taking a moment to mourn another, a moment that's all too often called for but rarely indulged in.

He's not sure how long they spend locked in that embrace. Eventually the tears stop, eventually weariness wins out and arms and fingers loosen, and soon they're both squeezed onto the narrow cot, side by side but facing each other, knees touching.

Shepard's face is flushed and damp, her eyes red. Her hair is sticking to her face. Kaidan is sure he looks just as disheveled.

“Chakwas will have a fit if she sees us like this,” she murmurs, but makes no move to leave. Her right hand finds his left and her fingers skim over his like she's trying to memorize the shape of his knuckles, the fine bones of his hand.

“Chakwas has been a doctor for a long time,” he replies. “I'm sure she's seen worse.”

“I feel guilty,” admits Shepard. “Is it wrong to do this while we're grieving for Ash?”

He feels it, too. “We aren't really doing anything, though.”

“You know what I mean.”

“We're...seeking comfort after the loss of a friend. That's all. There's nothing inappropriate going on.”

“But I wouldn't be doing this with Wrex,” she points out.

He sighs. “Shepard, I won't lie about having feelings for you. I've told you that before, and it holds true now. Once we've seen this mission through, we can act on them. But this is about Ash right now. You and I knew her best, you and I were her friends, and you and I will carry this guilt for the rest of our lives. Let's leave it at that, and just be strong for each other right now.”

But for all his bluffing, the way she looks at him is dazzling. He wants so badly to kiss her, to seize the chance he almost lost, but here in the calm of the medbay with no life or death situation breathing down their necks, it's too easy to remember all the possible consequences.

“Suppose I'll tell Chakwas that when she finds us here in the morning,” she replies with a trace of her old humor, moving closer and using his arm as a pillow.

He wants to watch her fall asleep, savor the feeling of having her so close and warm, but he's exhausted, physically, mentally and emotionally. He's out within minutes; the touch of her fingers against his face, a tender stroke along his jaw, registers only as the prelude to a dream.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

2183 – SSV Normandy

en route to Ilos

 

In the few minutes since Kaidan first kissed her, Shepard has made a number of groundbreaking discoveries, chief among them the fact that it just may be impossible to stop touching him, ever, and that she might not care the slightest bit. She's maybe a little giddy, wound up with the possibility of walking into certain death, wracked with stress from stealing a ship, and if she can distract herself by indulging feelings she thought would remain unrequited, she'll happily do so.

From the way his hands skim her shoulders, span her waist, settle into the small of her back, she assumes he must feel the same. His mouth is eager but gentle against hers, with the occasional change in intensity, the measured self-control of someone who wants, has wanted for a long time, but simultaneously fears losing now that he has it. She winds her hands in his hair to bring him closer, feeling the hard planes of his body against hers, warm through their uniforms.

_Is this worth it?_

Her mouth freezes against his for a split second, long enough that he takes notice, and he breaks away, brow creasing.

“Are you sure about this?" he asks, correctly interpreting her hesitation. His hands are still where they grip her waist.

“If we both die tomorrow, wouldn't you regret leaving it here?” she replies.

“If we survive tomorrow, would you regret going through with it?” he counters.

“In for a penny,” she says with a grin, pushing him backwards on the bed and clambering on top of him. He huffs a laugh.

“So that's all I am to you?” he teases. “Already in trouble, so might as well?”

“I have a complex web of reasoning,” she says. “But the majority of my reasoning is that I really, really like you.”

She leans down to kiss the silly smile off his mouth. Under her palms, his chest is broad and warm, his thighs hot where she straddles him. When she pulls back, his face is flushed, his eyes dark with lust, and she's pleased that she can have such an effect on him.

“Full disclosure, Shepard, this isn't something I've done with my commanding officer before,” he confesses. “I'm not sure what the protocol is.”

“It doesn't have to be complicated,” she replies, amused. “I'm not going to demote you based on performance.”

He starts to laugh. “You went straight to demotion, huh?”

“Takes some of the pressure off, right?” she chuckles.

His palms run over her thighs. “What I meant, was, it feels strange to call you by your last name while I'm in your bed.”

“It would be stranger if you didn't. No one's called me anything else since I was sixteen. Just one request: if we're naked or in the process of getting naked, let's leave out titles. I don't want to get hot under the collar every time we're on a hostile planet and you're calling me ma'am.”

He gives another laugh. “So you're already planning on doing this again?”

“Depends how this time goes.”

He grins up at her like a lovestruck fool and starts to extricate himself from his shirt, and she does likewise.

She's never been ashamed of her body: it's not the curvaceous form she might have once dreamed of having, but her waist is firm, her stomach flat, her breasts small, her arms and legs well-toned from carrying so much armor day in and out. It's a sleek, strong form, perfect for a soldier, but for the first time in her life she feels self-conscious. Maybe it's the way he's staring, lips parted, drinking in her shape as she reveals it. Unfamiliar heat creeps up her neck.

“What's with that look? Please tell me you've seen a naked woman before. I mean, it's okay if you haven't, but-”

“No, I mean, yes, I have seen a- I haven't seen you,” he finishes as she tosses her shirt aside.

“But you've thought about it,” she teases, helping him pull his shirt over his head. It joins hers on the floor, and she seats herself more firmly on his hips just to draw that sharp intake of breath from his lips. “In your private time, you've thought about what it might be like, haven't you? When you're alone in your bunk, do you think about me?”

He has the grace to blush. His voice is huskier when he replies. “Yes. I've thought about you.”

“A lot?”

A breath of laughter, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “All the time.”

That...does a little something to her, she has to admit, leaning down to capture his wrists against the bedspread. He lets her pin him, staring up at her with wonder and yes, maybe reverence in his eyes as she bends to catch his mouth. She's not sure she'll ever get tired of kissing him or the little pleased sounds he makes when she does. More experimenting is clearly necessary.

“Is this what you imagined?” she whispers against his lips.

“Better. Besides the looming threat of whatever we'll face in the morning. Somehow I never factored that in.”

She chuckles, presses forward and her body slides against his, skin on skin, entirely gratified by the appreciative groan he gives in response.

“No work talk,” she chastises. “Just you and me, Kaidan.”

His laugh rumbles between their chests. “I think I can handle that.”

Privacy was low on the list of priorities when the Normandy was being designed, Shepard thinks. Even the captain's quarters, more private than most places on the ship, isn't an ideal place for a liaison. But she is equally positive that she just doesn't care, and if the whole ship knows what she and Kaidan get up to in the hours before approaching Ilos, then that's just too bad. For once she doesn't worry about being secretive and silent, doesn't worry about reputation or what will come in the morning, just gives in to the temptation she's been keeping bottled up for the better part of a year.

She's had one-night stands on shore leave, in the aftermath of Akuze. This is different. It's not just the pursuit of physical sensation, a means to an end. It's the realization of their feelings, their friendship and respect and desire represented in touch, the slide of skin on skin, feeding the spark between them into a roaring fire. The intimacy in his most innocent touch both terrifies and mesmerizes her, the tenderness in the soft words he murmurs against her skin makes her weak and strong in equal measures. Uncertain touches become purposeful, hesitation becomes enthusiasm, and she marvels how she made it so far in life without knowing him like this, without hearing him sigh and shudder her name. Maybe without the threat of death and imprisonment hanging over them it wouldn't be this exciting, this passionate- she doesn't know. But this makes sense, here and now: something strong and perfect in the face of unpredictability.

She's prepared to face anything and everything in the galaxy. She's utterly unprepared to fall in love with her lieutenant.

When she returns from a hasty cleanup in the bathroom he's still there in her bed, half-asleep and waiting for her, and a strange, giddy warmth floods her all the way to her toes. It's never been like this: never a lover waiting in her bed for her to return, to stay the night with her once the sex was over.

“Did you want me to leave?” he asks uncertainly when he sees her standing in the doorway to the bathroom, watching him and contemplating her odd new feelings.

“No,” she assures him, climbing back into bed. When he shifts, folds himself around her, chest against her back, a knee between her thighs, she closes her eyes and tries, for as long as she can, to commit the moment to memory, before she falls asleep.

“Are you afraid?” he asks her, sometime late in the sleep cycle, a half-awake murmur in her ear.

“Yes,” she replies. It's an admission she wouldn't make by day, lulled into security by the lateness of the hour and the intimacy of the evening. Ilos is approaching and they have no idea what's waiting for them. “I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know what to expect. This isn't like anything I've ever done before. But I have to do it.”

“If anyone can do it, you can.”

He says it so easily, so confidently, she almost believes him.

 


	16. Chapter 16

2183 – Citadel

 

The initial aftermath of the attack on the Citadel is lost to Shepard, who is spirited off to a nearby hospital and spends a weary night among the rest of the injured, drifting off against Kaidan's shoulder while they sit waiting for her turn. She hears bits and pieces of the story, related between nurses and patients, but she's far more interested in sleeping. It hardly seems like less than twenty-four hours have passed between landing on Ilos and ending up here, less than forty-eight since they lost Ash, and her exhaustion bites down to the bone. The fight with Saren is a blur in her mind, terminating in a rush of pain and fear as the walls collapsed in on them, frantically digging her way out of the rubble and emerging worse for the wear but alive, to the relief of her crew.

She doesn't remember getting treatment or the trip back to the Normandy, but she wakes in her own bed to Kaidan gently shaking her arm.

"Captain Anderson is requesting permission to board," he says as she rolls over with a groan. "Are you all right?"

"How long have I been out?"

"Ten hours. We thought it was best to let you sleep."

She winces as she rises into a sitting position. Fire races through her left shoulder and across her ribs.

"I can tell him you're still recovering," he offers.

"No, it's fine. If you can help me dress..."

If he notices how heavily she leans on him, he doesn't say anything. He dresses her as methodically as he helps fasten her armor, quick and professional, and even brushes her hair back when her injured shoulder doesn't allow her the range of movement to do it herself. In the mirror, she registers the concern on his face, and belatedly remembers him sweeping her into his arms when she emerged from the ruins of the Citadel tower. Anderson might have overlooked that as friendly, but the way Kaidan had cradled her face in trembling hands and kissed her was anything but.

"If he asks..." says Kaidan finally, breaking the silence, and she shakes her head.

"I'll do the talking. If he addresses you, just tell the truth. We stole a warship; I don't think a fraternization charge is the highest priority on his mind right now."

"I'll take responsibility," he offers.

"Don't be stupid."

"Shepard..."

"I'm not going to lie and I'm not going to let you do it for me. I'll deal with it. But this is your last chance to back out. Tell me it was a one night stand, and it was a one night stand."

The concern on his face changes to hurt. "Of course not. Is...that what you think?"

“I think that you always leave a way out, and this time the door is closing.”

He cups her cheek in one hand. “Then let it close.”

If she had any doubts, the way he kisses her then banishes them.

He helps her to the bridge where the rest of her crew is already waiting. She doesn't miss the way Anderson's eyes flick down to where Kaidan has an arm wrapped around her waist, and gently disentangles herself, standing as straight as she can with the pain in her ribs.

"You'll be happy to know the Alliance is choosing to overlook most of what happened as a result of this situation," he tells them. "The Council is counting it as part of your duty as a Spectre. Although both organizations highly recommend that you don't steal any ships in the future, as they might not be as accommodating." He allows a small smile that Shepard mirrors.

"That go for you too, sir?"

"It does. I put a lot of faith in you, Shepard. Whatever decisions you make, no one can argue that you don't get the job done, even if you skip a few steps in the middle. The Citadel was spared a great deal of damage."

"With all due respect sir, we were all spared a lot more than that."

He nods. "A point that will be under heavy investigation, I'm sure. We- the rest of the Council and myself- are already formulating a new assignment for you. Until that time, the Normandy needs repaired and your crew needs to recharge. I'd like you to take a week here while we finalize your next mission. Since you completed your goal of tracking down Saren, some of your crew may choose to move on as well."

She hasn't thought that far ahead, but she realizes he's right. Without the hunt for Saren bringing them together, her alien crew members will likely go their separate ways. It's a sad thought.

"I'd also like to speak privately with you and Lieutenant Alenko," he adds. "Might we use your quarters?"

"Of course. Dismissed," she tells the crew, and follows Anderson to the deck below.

"Depending on the results of the investigation, the two of you could be looking at promotions before the end of the year," he says. "You're both exemplary soldiers, which is why I'm so disappointed in you."

Kaidan goes red, and Shepard feels the heat rise in her cheeks as well.

"Explain what happened back there in the Tower," he says. "You've never lied to me. If you want to pass it off as a mistake made in the heat of the moment, I might be able to overlook it. I've seen stranger things. But I've seen the difference between a confused response to surviving a near death situation and something that goes deeper, that's had time to grow. That was the latter. Unless you wish to dispute it."

She squares her shoulders, wincing from the pain.

"I freely admit to breaking fraternization regs," she says. "As the superior officer, all of the blame rests with me. I submit to whatever charges you lay against me and ask that you allow me to take the brunt of the punishment."

Kaidan starts to interrupt, and Anderson silences him with a raised hand.

"In light of your actions on the Citadel yesterday, I don't want to make a big deal about this. Make no mistake- I will be reporting this. I have to. For a soldier of your rank to be compromised on a mission is unacceptable. Whatever the status of your relationship, I urge you strongly to end it, or I can't allow the two of you to continue working together."

"Respectfully, sir, Spectres are not subject to Alliance regulations."

"You're Alliance first," snaps Anderson. "Don't fight with me about this. You will not win. The Council may not have regulations about fraternization for Spectres but they do have rules about undue risks, and the possibility of compromising your mission over romantic feelings for your subordinates definitely qualifies as a risk."

"But I do need qualified teammates," she replies. "You handpicked Lieutenant Alenko, which means he's the best. That's what I need. We've had...an emotional connection for half a year, and never has he disobeyed an order in combat, and nor have I favored him over my other crewmates. You can ask them, if you like. We've never put anything but the Alliance first."

Anderson glances at Kaidan.

"What about you? What do you have to say about this?"

"She's right. She's never treated me any differently. I disagree about her taking the full punishment on herself, though. I am a willing participant in this relationship."

"Listen," says Anderson, and there is a little less anger in his voice, "I've seen this happen too many times. Every year there are more than a few soldiers who think they're the exception to the rule, that they can get away with balancing work and relationship, and it always ends badly. Not always for them- often for some poor soul who had nothing to do with it, who just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. If it gets out that you two were romantically involved, there will be questions. For instance, is there anything additional you'd like to tell me about Virmire?"

Anger mingled with guilt flares in her stomach.

"What are you accusing me of?" she asks, carefully choosing her words.

"I'm not accusing you. But these questions will be asked, these are the things you have to consider. Even if you are entirely innocent of favoritism, people will still wonder in situations like this. What do you think Williams's family would say if they found out?"

"My report explained everything in full. I regret what happened on Virmire, but I wouldn't have changed anything. It was a difficult decision, the hardest of my life, but forgive me if I say you would have done the same in my place. It was the price of stopping Saren. If the price had been Alenko's life instead, I'd have paid it just the same. Sorry," she adds, glancing at Kaidan.

"I believe you would have," says Anderson, and he sighs. "You're putting me in a difficult position here, Shepard."

"Then let us finish out the tour," says Shepard. "If there are any infractions, or if you can find me a biotic who's half as good, we'll go our separate ways and I won't say a thing. The mission comes first no matter what. That should matter more than our private lives."

"You understand that I'll hold you personally responsible for anything that happens as a result of this relationship?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you, lieutenant? If you want out, this would be the time to speak up."

Kaidan shakes his head. "I think the terms are acceptable."

Anderson eyes them both. "For the record, I still hold the opinion that the wisest course of action would be to end the relationship immediately. And if I hear either of you come calling begging for the other to be put off the mission, you'll both be demoted. But I suppose I can't change your minds. Shepard especially is exceptionally stubborn."

A trace of humor returns to his voice and the tension eases from Shepard's shoulders. From the corner of her eye she can see Kaidan relax slightly as well.

"I have to get back. The attack on the Citadel left a hundred things undone, not least of all the necessity of a security upgrade. The rest of the Council and I will be quite busy over the next few days, but I'll contact you by the end of the week with your new assignment."

"Yes, sir."

"Do me a favor and try not to cause any more damage in the meantime," he says, and even smiles.

"I'll try my best," she promises.

When he leaves the room, Kaidan's relief is such that he nearly collapses.

"I thought that was it for us," he says.

"I did, too, for a minute," she admits. "He picked both of us for his crew, though. He knows what we're capable of, and he knows we won't screw this up. I hope he does, anyway."

"Now what?"

Shepard rolls her injured shoulder thoughtfully. "A party on the Citadel, I think. Dinner and drinks for the crew to celebrate. Extra drinks to remember Ash. Getting shitfaced shouldn't cause any more damage to the Citadel, right?"

"With you? I'd never presume." He pauses. "I meant, what's next for us?"

"I know what you meant. I was getting to that. We have a weeklong vacation ahead of us, don't we?"

He smiles. "And I have some ideas about that. But we can't hole up in your cabin for a week. I'm pretty sure that would go against the whole secrecy thing Anderson wants us to stick to."

"There are plenty of hotels on the Citadel," she says.

 

-

 

For a place that was nearly decimated mere hours ago, the Citadel doesn't want for restaurants. Indeed, it's harder to find a place that can serve the multitude of races that make up Shepard's crew than it is to find a place that actually closed due to damage. Eventually they do, and spend the evening eating, and, of course, drinking.

Shepard proposes a toast to everything from Nihlus to the Normandy, and at least three to Ashley. No one balks at matching her drink for drink for the first hour, but once she's rapidly deteriorated from tipsy to drunk, the toasts die off and she takes to staring contentedly around the table. It's the look of a mission well done, Kaidan thinks, a calm and peace rarely seen on Shepard. There are still things to be concerned about, he knows: the biggest threat is still out there, the Reapers to worry about, but with the Council finally on their side it's a load off of Shepard's shoulders and she can relax.

"You're going to have a hell of a hangover," he murmurs when she sits down next to him near the end of the night, a smile plastered on her face.

"Worth it," she replies. “Did we drink to Ash's memory yet?”

“You've got that covered about eight times over, yeah.”

“Just checking. I wish she was here.”

“Me too,” he says. “She would be furious that you saved the council after everything they put you through.”

Shepard laughs. “Yeah she would. Hell, I'm kind of pissed about it myself. But I think we have a real shot at making changes around here now. We've proven ourselves and they can't deny it now, the whole galaxy saw it happen. I own their asses.”

“That'll be comforting considering everything we still have to do.”

She leans against him, raises a hand like she's trying to place a finger against his lips and completely misses. “Shh, come on, Alenko, don't you know how to have fun? Stop...thinking about things and drink. Everything's gonna change after this. Wrex is leaving. Tali, Garrus and Liara will probably be going soon, too. This is our last time to be together as a team. It'll be just you and me pretty soon.”

“I can't say I dislike the sound of that,” he murmurs. “But you're right. It's been nice having everyone around. I think I learned more about the galaxy in the past year than my entire time in basic.”

“Bet you never saw a thresher maw, either,” she chuckles, and he has to smile.

“When the press asks me what it was like to work with the Commander Shepard, that'll be the first thing I bring up: your uncanny ability to find the worst creatures on every planet and introduce yourself, face-to-face.”

Her hand is on his thigh suddenly. “That's all you have to say about me?” she teases.

“Well. That's all I have to say about you to the press.”

She squeezes his leg. Under the table, no one can see what exactly is making his face go red.

 

-

 

Shepard is terrible at flirting, but damn if her tactics don't work.

He turns the hotel key over in his hand as he waits for the elevator. She'd scrawled the room number on a scrap of paper and whispered in his ear that she was planning to spend their entire week of shore leave completely naked, and that he was more than welcome to join her. When she'd slid the key into his back pocket it had taken all he had not to grab her around the waist and carry her halfway across the Citadel to the hotel.

Instead, they'd both waited out the party, let it fizzle naturally to its conclusion. Shepard had bid them all good-night twenty minutes ago, and he'd waited what he considered to be a reasonable amount of time before following. It seems much longer now as the elevator ascends achingly slowly to its destination.

“About goddamn time,” she says when he finally opens the door to her suite.

She wasn't entirely honest- she's still dressed, perched on the edge of the sofa waiting for him, but that's a situation with an easy enough remedy. He barely has time to appreciate the opulence of the suite before Shepard catches him by the mouth and renders every other thing in his life utterly unimportant.

 

-

 

The only drawback to sharing a bed with Shepard is that she is a very fitful sleeper, prone to kicking and tossing and the occasional unintelligible murmur. He's not complaining; he'd rather she elbowed him in the face twice a night than the alternative. It occurs to him that that's a bit on the ridiculous side, and that maybe, just maybe, he's in too deep.

He finds that he really doesn't care.

She's still out when he gets up to shower, a lump of blankets on the far side of the bed. When he leans down to kiss the top of her head, where her hair is astoundingly tousled, she mumbles something but doesn't open her eyes.

When he returns from the shower it's to find her sprawled across the bed on her stomach like an explorer claiming a new planet for her own, the blankets abandoned on the floor. No one ever accused her of being modest, he thinks fondly.

“C'mon, get up,” he says. “At least let me change the sheets.”

She makes a non-committal sound and doesn't move. It's actually a pretty spectacular view: simulated daylight creeping through the window and over the bed, lighting upon the shapely back and rear of the naked woman lying across it.

Maybe a little too inviting, he thinks, abandoning the towel and crawling back into bed with her, throwing an arm around her and pressing his face to the back of her neck.

“Eventually you're going to have to get up and dressed if you want to eat,” he tells her.

“What if I'd rather stay in bed?”

“Then you're going to be in bed alone, because biotics gotta eat.” He kisses the curve of her shoulder apologetically.

“The pitfalls of having a biotic boyfriend,” she groans.

“You weren't complaining about it last night.” He pauses. “Am I your boyfriend?”

“You kissed me in front of Anderson. We had to come clean about this whole thing, so you might as well make an honest woman out of me.” There's teasing in her voice, and he relaxes, glad she isn't angry with him over it.

“The heat of the moment. I thought you got crushed.”

“A relationship built on a firm foundation of near-death experiences,” she says fondly.

“I thought that was just the Shepard way.”

She rolls over and swats at him playfully.

“You're an ass,” she decides, leaning in to kiss him.

Eventually Shepard deigns to shower and puts on a robe long enough for room service to bring up breakfast and freshen the room. He supposes he should worry about the smiling asari maid who winks knowingly at him and promises to be very discreet about anything that happens in their room, but Shepard only shrugs and smiles.

After breakfast they curl up in the clean sheets, drinking coffee and watching terrible vids together. She leans against him, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug, looking relaxed for perhaps the first time that he's known her. He can't help picture the two of them doing the same thing on Earth, maybe on the sofa in his old living room in front of the bay window, looking out on a rainy morning in Vancouver. Maybe for the rest of their lives.

“This is nice,” she says, almost echoing his thoughts. “I almost wish we didn't have to go back.”

“Alliance first,” he reminds her.

“Alliance first,” she agrees. “Still, I'll miss this.”

“We have a week. And I'll bring coffee to your cabin if you'll let me.”

“Probably shouldn't. I don't want to give the crew any reason to think I'm giving you special treatment. It'll be business as usual.” But she sighs, and he glances down at her.

“I know it'll be hard, but I really want to make this work. In case you didn't notice, I like you, Shepard. A lot.”

She gives a wry smile. “I certainly hope so. In any case, I'll try to work in some more shore leave this time around.”

He watches her sip her coffee, content, serene, and wonders how the hell he got so lucky.

 


	17. Chapter 17

2183 – Citadel

 

 

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

She's surprised by the question. His head is on her chest, an arm thrown over her stomach, and she idly runs her fingers through his hair, rubbing circles against his scalp. It's the middle of the night, though time means nothing here on the Citadel, and she's slowly growing used to their post-coital chats, frequent as they are, but this question she has to think about.

“I don't know,” she says at length. “My parents were farmers. I supposed I thought I'd be a farmer, too.”

“Farmer Shepard,” he murmurs, his voice buzzing against her skin. “Hard to picture.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just...weird to think of you as anything but military. Suits you, you know?”

“What about you? What did you want to be?”

Warm breath over her collarbone, words thick with sleep. “Oh, I knew I'd be in the Alliance, just like Dad. I was so ready for it, up til Brain Camp. After that I didn't care, wanted to be anything but. Came around, though.”

“Better late than never,” she agrees.

“Why'd you join the Alliance?”

Her fingers pause. “Not a lot of choice for an orphan, for one.”

She feels him tense against her, fully awake now. “Shit, I'm sorry, I forgot...”

“It's all right,” she assures him. "That's not the only reason I joined. I had so much rage after Mindoir, and I...it's terrible to say, but I joined up to kill batarians. I had some stupid notion of revenge, finding the scum responsible for killing my parents and making them pay." She sighs. "A child's fantasy. It was a while before I understood the futility of revenge. What justice is done in death? It wouldn't change what happened. It wouldn't be an instant cure for my misery. And it didn't matter which batarians. I'd already painted them all as murderers and monsters and I wasn't about to change my mind. After Akuze, Anderson invited me to N-School and sent me this massive report on batarian culture, history, language and everything else, told me to read up while I was recovering and I'd be quizzed before I was even allowed to set foot in Rio. He wasn't joking, either, and you'd better believe I was assigned every mission that had to do with batarians for my entire training career, with strict orders not to kill unless necessary. Asshole," she adds, though fondly.

"And now?"

"Now what? Batarians? I don't think we'll ever be the best of friends, but at least I don't fantasize about killing them anymore. Live and let live. There's plenty of twisted fucks out there of all races and species. Those are the ones I worry about. I think my parents would be proud that I joined the Alliance. Maybe not following the family footsteps, but I did well for myself, all things considered."

“Have you ever...do you ever...?”

“Talk about it? No. No one really...it's hard to explain to someone who wasn't there.”

He's quiet, but she knows him well enough by now, knows the questions are welling up inside of him, but he's too polite to ask.

“You can ask,” she says.

“You don't have to...if it's too much...”

She continues stroking his hair, basking in his warmth, the overwhelming surge of emotions he brings out in her. “You have a right to know. We're...involved.”

The words make him relax again. “If...it's okay, I'd like to hear about it. About your parents. About Mindoir.”

 

-

 

2170 – Mindoir

 

Winter is short in the habitable zone on Mindoir, and the temperatures scarcely dip below freezing. The only reason they consider it a season at all is because it gives the crops time to drop into dormancy and prepare for another growing year. It's not winter yet, but there's a bite in the air at night as the homesteaders finish their harvests.

“On Earth it snows during the winter,” says Elena Hancock.

“It snows here, sometimes,” says Shepard. “I've seen it.” She has, once. A bitter cold night, some years ago, her parents woke her up to see flakes of white soaring through the air. It was gone within minutes and she'd never seen it happen again.

“You lie,” says Elena, nudging her shoulder. “Anyway, it's different on Earth. Snow can pile up, feet high. That doesn't happen here.”

Shepard doesn't think she'd like to see snow, and she doesn't care about Earth. The only reason she's feigning interest is because Elena is a recent transplant to Mindoir, born and raised on Earth, and Shepard thinks it might be nice to kiss her. They're lying on their backs in the field out behind Shepard's house, where the grass is long enough to hide them from sight, under a velvety black sky illuminated by billions of stars.

“What do you do then, when it snows that high?” she murmurs.

“Well, nothing. Sit at home and try to keep warm.”

“I'm glad it doesn't snow here then.”

Elena's dark eyes glitter. “It's not all bad. There are some things you can do to pass the time.”

“And keep warm?”

The older girl props herself up on her elbow and Shepard feels a thrill go through her. “Yeah, and keep warm.”

Kissing Elena is different than kissing Jackson, the boy from three farms over and previously the only other person Shepard has kissed. Maybe it's because she's a year older, maybe it's because she's from Earth, maybe it's because she's a girl, Shepard doesn't know, but she responds eagerly when Elena rolls onto her, a mass of curly brown hair falling over her shoulder, a warm weight under a chilly sky. Her mouth is soft but hungry and her fingers aren't shy about finding the hem of Shepard's t-shirt and slipping beneath.

They kiss for maybe half an hour, wrapped up in each other. A bright flash of light behind Elena's head, in the starry sky, catches both their attention, and Elena pulls back, frowning.

"Shooting star?" she wonders aloud.

"Dunno," replies Shepard, feeling hazy and warm as the weight shifts off of her. "Might be. Or an Alliance ship in orbit."

A lone siren starts up, growing into a shrill blast across the homesteads. They wince and sit up.

"Curfew already?"

"We should have a few hours at least." Shepard squints into the distance. It's not unheard of for sirens to sound at random times, there are drills at least once a month, and if it's the Alliance summoning them, they best not ignore it. Disappointed, Elena pulls her to her feet and they start back for their homes.

"There's a harvest dance next week," say Shepard, suddenly shy. "We have one every year, and it's kind of silly, but if you wanted..."

Elena giggles. "That sounds nice. If you want to come to my place after school tomorrow, we could start planning what to wear."

She nods. Elena squeezes her hand.

"I can't wait to dress you up," she says. "But I'd better get home. Good night."

They kiss once more just outside Shepard's door, soft but lingering, and Elena departs. The siren is still blaring as she heads inside, but the emergency radio is silent. A test, or a malfunction, she thinks.

"There you are," says her mother. The living room is small but bright, and both of her parents are awake, sitting on the sofa. Here the siren is slightly muffled but it continues on, crying into the night, and her father grimaces.

"Wish they'd fix that thing," he says. "It wasn't working for the last two weeks and now it won't stop.”

"I think I saw an Alliance ship coming in, so maybe they're here to fix it," say Shepard offhandedly, grabbing an apple from the kitchen.

"Were you out with Elena?"

"Mm." She's spared answering by a mouthful of fruit. Her parents exchange amused glances.

"Sweetheart, you remember the talk we had about the birds and the bees, right?" asks her mother tentatively, and Shepard tries not to choke.

"I don't think that's something I need to be overly concerned with," she replies, aware that her face is blazing red.

"Just because you can't get pregnant with her doesn't mean you should go rushing into things you might not be ready for-"

"God, really? I remember the talk. Let's not do this again. Elena's a...friend."

Her father smiles at her mother. "Remember when we used to be _friends_ out in the fields at night back on Earth?"

“We were _really good_ friends,” chuckles her mother.

Shepard recoils in disgust. "I'm going upstairs!"

Her room is small and cozy. She shuts the window against the siren and flops down on the bed, thinking about Elena and her wandering hands, and the prospect of going to the dance together. Her stomach flips pleasantly.

The siren dies out. In the silence she can hear her parents talking downstairs, probably still discussing her and Elena, but she is too far away to make out the words. Outside the window the other homesteads are glowing lights here and there, clustered around a central plaza that's dark this time of night. She can see the lights reflecting on the sides of the greenhouses and the small science bunkers that are empty now as well. She daydreams for a while, thinks briefly about starting her homework, but her thoughts are still out in the field with Elena.

Twenty minutes later, another flash of light startles her, and the power abruptly goes out.

It's not unheard of- there are a limited number of generators and they are getting old, so she doesn't panic. The other houses are dark now too, but there's a glow on the horizon that she doesn't recognize. A fire, maybe, but no, there's no smoke, and there hasn't been a storm cloud in weeks.

Her parents call her name, and she heads back downstairs. They've lit a few candles, and the night isn't cold enough that the power being out is anything but a mild inconvenience. The living room window faces the same direction as her bedroom, and the glow is brighter now.

"Do you hear something?" asks her father, opening the door.

They listen. There's a strange sound on the wind, a snatch of voices, loud and unfamiliar. And someone screams.

"Someone must be hurt," says her father, and pulls on his boots. "I'll check it out. Stay here and keep the door locked until I get back."

"What do you mean, locked?" She doesn't think they've ever locked their doors. Another scream breaks the silence, closer, louder, and she freezes. It's a scream of terror mixed with agony, horrible enough that her father pauses in the doorway. He has just turned to grab his shotgun when the front window shatters.

She screams and falls to the floor, her mother pulling her into shelter behind the sofa. Harsh voices come through clear now, thick and strange, and she feels her translation implant come to life. From behind the sofa she can see them, hulking shapes laden with guns and armor, but nothing like the Alliance military soldiers that sometimes visit.

_Batarians_ , she realizes.

It's been years since a batarian was spotted, years since they last made an attempt against the colony, and the Alliance had chased them off, but there's no doubt that's what Shepard is looking at now. Three of the misshapen creatures look in through the broken window with too many eyes, spot her, and the leader utters a single command.

"Take the young female. Dispose of the others."

"Like hell!" Her father brings the shotgun around to face the leader as he approaches the door, but the batarian merely sneers and raises his weapon. In a flash of light her father falls to the floor.

She's sure she's screaming, her mother pulling her frantically across the floor towards the back door, but her father is lying dead on the ground and she can't make the connection in her brain, the instant between him standing alive and falling to the ground refuses to register with her, and the batarians advance on them without the slightest hint of mercy.

"You can't take her!" Her mother's grip is like iron on her arms. There's nowhere to retreat to.

It's as if she hasn't spoken at all. The batarian grabs Shepard by the hair and another shoots her mother as casually as if she were a suffering animal.

She's crying, begging to be released, to go back to ten minutes ago in the living room with her parents alive and smiling, but if the batarians understand her they show no sign. She has learned about the batarians in school, knows that they view humans as little more than cattle, knows what happens to the ones they capture, the ones they force into slavery. They'll drill a hole into her skull and implant a control chip and use her until she drops dead.

She'd be better off dead.

"Take this one to the pen," says the batarian with a grip on her hair, shoving her forward. Now she can hear the screaming plain as day, familiar voices, people she knows howling in pain. She digs in her heels when the new batarian tries to drag her out of the house, and he jabs her between the shoulders with a stick that sends a wave of electricity bursting through her, every nerve burns like fire and she collapses in agony.

The batarian picks her up and throws her over his shoulder while she's still twitching from the residual shocks, trying to catch her breath.

Upside down, she can see the smears of red in the dirt as they pass, the splayed body of her former history teacher stares glassily at the sky with the one undamaged eye left in his crushed skull, her next-door neighbor's baby lies eerily still nearby with no sign of the mother. Choking back a sob, she punches and kicks as hard as she can, ineffectual against the batarian's armor, but there's a knife in his belt and when he shifts her angrily she reaches out and grabs it.

She's a farm girl- she's killed animals before, knows the faint sorrow of taking a life to nourish her own or to protect herself. As far as she's concerned this alien is just another animal, a killer with no capacity for rational thought, for compassion, and she feels no remorse when she jams the blade into his exposed neck.

She falls backwards as his hands automatically fly to the wound, hitting the dirt face-first and breaking her nose instantly. It hurts, but it barely fazes her. Worse is when the batarian lashes out with a foot and kicks her in the ribs, but even that is nothing under the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She's on her feet again, blood running down her face and warm on her hands as she yanks the knife out again.

Now she can see the extent of the invasion. In the main square there are dozens of the aliens, moving around a large five-sided pen that crackles with electricity. The faces inside are young, none of the captives seem older than forty and most are mere teenagers. There's a narrow lane extending from the pen, and batarians drag captive colonists one by one out of the pen and into the nearest prefab. Whatever happens in there, Shepard doesn't know, but it seems to be the main source of the screaming, and a small group of docile humans mills about just outside.

She can guess.

A four-eyed face turns in her direction, and she bolts.

_In the event of an attack, take shelter in the school basement,_ sings a voice in her head, leftover from years of drills and written in every handbook she's ever gotten, but the school is in the middle of the colony and probably overrun already. Instead she heads away from the colony, trying desperately to keep her sobs under control, and into the deep grass on the outskirts of the farms. She wants to go home, wants to crawl into her bed and put a pillow over her head until she wakes up, but her parents are gone, everyone she knows and has ever met is gone and nothing can change that. She clutches the stolen knife and keeps moving. Unsure if she's being followed, she keeps her head low and sticks to cover, trying to remember the rest of the information about alien attacks she learned in class. It's impossible to think, too much to focus on, like someone's screaming in her face, and she hears the batarian behind her a split second before he grabs her by the hair.

"Struggling will only make it worse," he says, in a deep guttural voice that makes her shudder, and throws her to the ground with a savage satisfaction. She tastes dirt mingled with the blood still dripping from her nose. "You'll break, just the same as the others."

She swings the knife. Cursing, the batarian dodges her and his grip slackens just enough for her to pull free. She scrambles to her feet, half trips and backs away as he brandishes his weapon.

"Where do you think you can flee to, human child? Your colony is surrounded and we'll be long gone by the time your Alliance gets here. Better to surrender now before you really piss somebody off. You'd be surprised how messy an implant surgery can be with the proper motivation."

"Go to hell," she spits, and his shock wand meets the right side of her collarbone.

The night explodes in hideous light. It's a thousand times worse than before, her entire body seizing, a choked breath caught in her chest. She feels like her arms are on fire, her head about to split from the pressure within, and yet it goes on and on. When he finally pulls the stick away she's prostrate on the ground, moaning and crying.

She doesn't struggle when he grabs her again, doesn't have enough left in her to struggle, and she lets herself be dragged across the dirt, the memory of pain still searing at her skin. Even if she escapes, where will she go? There's nowhere left for her, not on this planet, and the batarians will find her and catch her and hurt her again. There's no point in running. The best she can hope for is they'll decide she's not worth the trouble and put a quick end to her instead of using her as a slave.

She knows she's not that lucky.

The smell of fire is strong in the air as they approach what was formerly the hub of the colony. She wasn't sure at first- the smell could have been her own clothes and skin burning for all she knew- but the smoke rises in thick plumes from the outskirts, moving inwards. Is her house on fire, she wonders? Are her parents' bodies turning to ashes in the living room where she grew up, the only home she's ever known vanishing into a sea of glowing embers?

There's no sound but the screams. As they draw closer to the pen she can hear the terror, the agony from every direction. The primal part of her brain urges her to run, to get away, but she's tired and beaten and hopeless. She's not the only one. Some others are like her, all the fight drained out of them, at the edges of the pens staring blankly into space.

_You have to move_ , her brain tells her as the gate comes into view. _If they get you in there, you're not coming back out. Not the way you are now. Not yourself._

The batarian has her by the scruff of the neck and they are surrounded by others now, brushing past more of the merciless killers as he takes her to her fate. Every muscle in her body hurts, sore from contracting and convulsing, and it would be so much easier just to let it happen, to give up...

A green-tinted batarian turns just as they walk by, the gun at his belt level with Shepard's fingers. She doesn't think, doesn't consider what will happen if she fails. Her hand strikes out, grabs the weapon and pulls.

It's a large, unwieldy weapon in her small hands, and she has no idea how to use it or what it does, but the one common factor remains the same with all guns: pull the trigger.

She does, directly into her captor's foot.

The gun gives off a beam of light like fire from the sun, blinding in the darkness, and blood pumps into the dirt from the stump of the batarian's foot. Chaos erupts: her captor yanks his hand away, another reaches for her, alien screams and shrieks join the chorus of cries and Shepard _runs_.

She pushes her aching body, ducking through the crowd even as bullets fly after her, and skirts the center of the town, gun clutched to her chest. Her jacket and pants are dark enough to blend into the night as long as she avoids the glow of fire to give her away. The advice in her old school handbooks races through her head again.

Batarians use thermal imaging, she remembers. Body heat gives you away. She can use the fires as a camouflage for a while, if she dares, but there's another possibility.

They stop chasing her by the time she reaches the first fire- she thinks, but she's not willing to pause to find out for certain. Instead she continues on, past the last houses on the wide open plains of Mindoir, into the darkness of the gnarled trees that edge the colony. She knows every inch of this colony, has explored it every day of her life, and even in the darkness she makes her way down into the creek without issue.

The night is deeper here, the trees obscuring most of the stars as she moves through the brush and steps into the creek. Cold water fills her shoes and soaks the bottom of her pants, climbing slowly upwards as she splashes further in. The rocky bank of the creek was a popular place to play as children, the natural formations a harmlessly small waterfall with a tunnel behind it. She steps under the waterfall- cold as ice, leaving her sodden and freezing from head to toe- and crawls into the tunnel in the rocky face behind.

It's quiet here. There's still the occasional cry, but the soothing sound of rushing water muffles all but the loudest. She scoots back as far as she can in the tunnel, into the welcoming darkness, and shivers. She's crying, shaking with silent sobs, shaking with cold, holding the weapon to her chest with desperation, hoping against hope that they won't bother to look for her here, that the rock is enough to hide her body heat, that the Alliance will come and leave them nothing more than smears of paste on the soil they disgraced.

Time passes slowly. She weeps for her mother and father, for her friends and neighbors, for Elena, for everyone in the colony that she left behind. Maybe she could have done something, could have tried to save them...

Deep down, she knows it's impossible. A lone teenager against an army of aliens? She was lucky to make it this far on her own. But that doesn't stop the guilt, the pain, the awful helplessness from gnawing at her insides.

It's cold now, so cold. She wants to close her eyes, wants to go to sleep and wake up and find out this was all some horrible dream, but she's no stranger to the perils of the cold. If she falls asleep now she'll never wake up.

It's not the worst idea, though.

"You made it this far," she says firmly to herself. "Just hang on a little longer. The Alliance will come."

They do.

She doesn't know how much time has gone by, but the roar of Alliance ships breaks the silence finally and the sound of gunfire takes over. She dares not emerge from her shelter, not yet, not until she knows they've won.

When the voices are calling into the woods, she's so cold she can barely move. She leaves the gun behind, unable to grip it in numb fingers, and crawls back into the world of the living. Dawn is breaking, the sky the color of blood, when she climbs the bank and looks out over what remains of the colony, merely a dark smudge on the horizon, still smoking in places. She drops to her knees, too exhausted to cry, to walk any further, to call out to the voices.

The Alliance has thermal imaging, too. A soldier finds her, wraps her in an emergency blanket, scoops her up and carries her to their camp, murmuring reassurances to her the entire time. It's meaningless noise after the night's events, but she appreciates it somewhere deep down within. Later she'll be upset that she never got his name.

Eventually, Anderson reminds her.

 


	18. Chapter 18

2183 – SSV Normandy – Citadel

 

The morning of their return to the ship, Shepard lays down the decree: _Not on the Normandy_. She tells Kaidan as her fingers reach out to straighten his collar, as naturally as if she'd been doing it for years, as she smooths the fabric over his shoulders and chest, and he agrees. Twenty minutes later, when they've undressed and redressed and she's once again adjusting his uniform, she says it again and he agrees again. She kisses him long and slow and they leave their brief period as regular citizens and return to military life, switching from lovers to colleagues and determined to keep it that way.

It lasts about eighteen hours, though it was a good try.

"You've ruined me," she tells him, lounging on her bed, watching him dress. "I used to be respectable, and you've ruined me."

"You were never that respectable," he replies, straight-faced, and she chuckles, throws a pillow at him, rolls out of bed and starts pulling on her clothes.

He misses the long, lazy mornings in bed, the drawn-out kisses and touches, the slow, languorous lovemaking, but the alternative is not so bad: stolen kisses in the mess, a covert pinch when no one is looking, quick, vigorous bouts with clothes still tangled around their ankles, covering Shepard's mouth with his own to keep her quiet while her nails dig into his shoulders. He has the feeling the rest of the crew knows: their tiny smirks and pointed coughs aren't as subtle as they seem to think they are, but there are no comments, no complaints, and as long as their work gets done, no one has reason to object.

It's about three weeks later when he realizes he loves her.

It's not a sudden realization, just the culmination of a barrage of feelings he's only now sorted out, a thousand tiny things he adores about her that roll into the big one. She's sitting across from him, not quite succeeding in feeding herself cereal one-handedly while her attention is occupied by the datapad in her other hand, hair falling into her eyes. Brushing it away would draw attention, he knows, but has to fight from doing it anyway. He thinks about how her small hands punched a geth to death the day before, about how deftly they find the troublesome spots behind his temples when his migraines flare up, about how accurately they aim and fire a sniper rifle. When she finally drops the spoon to focus on her datapad he reaches across the table and takes her other hand in his, lacing their fingers. The mess is empty by now, Joker's on sleep cycle and can't spy on them, and she smiles, her thumb stroking the side of his hand, though she doesn't look up from her reading.

"You're going to get us into trouble one of these days," she says, but she doesn't pull away.

_I love you,_ he thinks, but it doesn't quite make it to his tongue. It hasn't been long enough to say that, hasn't been nearly long enough to tell her something like that.

"Quit being so beautiful, then," he says instead.

"Get your eyes checked, Alenko," she tells him, contrary to the blush that appears high in her cheeks. "This honeymoon phase won't last forever. Then it'll be all 'you haven't shaved your legs in a month, Shepard,' and 'how did you manage to track blood all the way into your cabin _again_?'"

"And your optimism is one of the many things I adore about you. Incidentally, how _do_ you manage to track blood all the way to your cabin?"

"A trade secret," she replies, setting down the datapad to drain her cup of coffee and meeting his eyes with fond humor. "The Alliance give classes on how to compliment a lady or what?"

"Taught me everything I know."

"Yeah?" A quick glance at the door to confirm their solitude, and her voice slips low. "What else did they teach you? To seduce your CO? They teach you to eat pussy in basic?"

"No ma'am, I learned that all on my own," he replies unblushingly.

The tip of her tongue slides along her lower lip for just a split second. "I do love a motivated learner."

"You're such a tease." He cranes his neck to see what she's been studying.

"Supply stops? All planned in advance?" He raises an eyebrow. "This isn't like you."

She waves a hand. "Some of the crew was asking about holiday leave. I figured if I could time our supply and service stops on the Citadel just right, they might be able to get away for a few days. I mean, it all depends on sticking to a pretty rigid course til then, but it should be doable. Theoretically." She pulls away to pour herself another cup of coffee and he feels strangely empty without her hand in his own. "We never observed Earth holidays on Mindoir. You could book a shuttle to Earth for a day or two. You celebrate Christmas, right?"

She sips her coffee and regards him over the rim of the mug, trying to be coy. It's one of the few things she's not very good at.

"We do," he replies. "God, I haven't been home for Christmas in years."

"Take the chance," she suggests. And it clicks, suddenly, why she's watching him so intensely.

"You could come with me."

"I couldn't impose," she replies, but she's smiling as she sits down again, coffee mug cradled in her hands.

"Trust me, my parents would be thrilled if I brought someone home for the holidays. If they start hinting any heavier they're going to flat out tell me not to come back unless I have a date."

She chuckles. "Well, I couldn't bear to think of them being disappointed."

_I love you,_ he thinks, desperately, like a barely contained fever raging through his body.

"Is this really okay?" she asks. "I just...I don't want this to all go tits up in a month, and then you can't stand to look at me and we're stuck together on this ship for the rest of the tour. Don't let me pressure you into moving too fast, or doing anything you aren't up for..."

"Shepard. I want you there."

He's more in love with the genuine smile that crosses her face that instant than he has been with anything else so far. Happiness is too rarely seen on her, and he resolves in that moment to change that, no matter the cost.

"I can hardly say no to that face," she teases. "If you're sure...?"

"Absolutely."

She beams, leans across the table in a quick, sudden motion, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and gathers up her datapad and tray. "Then I better get this moving."

"Leaving already? Just when you got me all flustered?"

"Gotta confer with Anderson in ten," she replies. "I'll make it up to you later."

It's the first and last promise she makes to him, and the first and last one she breaks.

 


	19. Chapter 19

2183 - Alchera

 

The utter _silence_ as the Normandy breaks apart is the most terrifying aspect of the attack. It peels apart like it's being pushed from the inside, fires quickly snuffed out as the last of the oxygen escapes, debris spinning in all directions, and all Shepard can hear is her own panicked breath in her ears as the shock wave sends her reeling.

_This can't be happening._

She knew it was too late from the moment the first shot impacted them, the ship shuddering, alarms wailing, but some part of her couldn't believe it until she opened the door to the CIC and saw the whole of Alchera hanging above them, vast and unknowing and terrible. And now, as she's buffeted away from the remains of the ship, Alchera looms ever closer, pulling the Normandy into orbit, pulling her towards its blue-and-white surface.

An escape pod cannot rescue a castaway. The Alliance is hours from responding.

Her oxygen will last an hour, if she's lucky, if she calms down. Less, if she overloads the medi-gel system and lets herself drift off without the pain, the terror of suffocation. That was always her plan if it came down to it, if there was no other way. Asphyxiation is the one fear she refuses to face.

It's a death sentence. She knows that. Even if the Alliance arrives before her oxygen runs out, even if they zero in on her emergency signal with no interference, the odds that they'll find her are so infinitesimal that they aren't even worth considering. No. She will die here, in the vastness of space.

With the rest of her crew.

Did any of them make it out? Kaidan would have saved everyone he could: he's dependable, capable. She wishes she had told him that more. But did he make it out with them, or was he still in the ship when the second hit came?

Joker is safe, she knows that, it's a small comfort. If she lost those few precious seconds to escape in order to save him, well, it's not so bad. She can die knowing that. But the rest of her crew...

She knows there were deaths. There is no question- she saw more than one body and there was no time to check for life signs. She hopes, selfishly, perhaps, for Kaidan's safety most of all. They should have had so much more together, she reflects bitterly.

Space is beautiful and utterly deadly. There are no lights from the Normandy now, just dead chunks of debris floating in nothingness. Stars shine brilliantly everywhere she looks, pinpricks of light, burning coldly and impersonally, a beautiful background for a tragedy. Her vision blurs. Tears? No, her face is dry, but she's suddenly lightheaded. An alarm goes off in her helmet. Cold fear takes root in her stomach.

_Hypoxia._

There's a leak in the oxygen line. She twists, trying to find it, desperate to reach it, her gloved hands utterly useless to trace the line and close it. _No no no, I can't, I won't suffocate, please no don't let me die like this-_

The radio in her helmet crackles with static. From far away she hears a voice.

"Shepard, _please God_ say you can hear me."

He's alive.

She lets out a choked sob. A mistake: there's no air left to refill her lungs. _Oh God_.

"Shepard! Did you make it out?"

She can't reply, there's nothing left, and even if there was she would only be able to scream. The lights in her helmet are flashing now, oxygen levels at zero, her pulse pounding, her lungs burning. _I don't want to die like this!_

Kaidan's voice sounds close to tears when it comes again. "Shepard, _please_."

After everything, to die like this, not with a bang but with a whimper.

_I have so much left to do._

Maybe it's okay. Kaidan has the torch now. Kaidan will take charge, will take care of the crew, will pick up her unfinished business. Maybe she was just meant to start this fight, not to finish it.

Maybe if she's going to die, at least it's with her crew and her ship.

Her fingers go slack on the oxygen line. Is this what Ashley felt, looking death in the face and being unable to escape? This anger, this despair, this helplessness?

_I'm so sorry, Ash. I'm so sorry._

_Kaidan, I..._

The alarms fade. The lights blur. The last thing she sees is the glint of the escape pods as they hurtle to the planet's surface before she gives in to the crushing darkness.

 

-

 

The Alliance moves swiftly when summoned. It's a wait of only a few hours before they're rescued by a passing dreadnought, their pods scooped from the planet's icy surface into the safety of the ship's hanger bay. Kaidan spends those hours in silent prayer, begging any deity he can think of to let him wake up now, let it all be a dream. He keeps his helmet on, his face hidden so that the others won't see the anguish there, to let them keep hoping. Across from him, Chakwas weeps silently, and he knows that she knows. _Please, if there's any justice in the galaxy, please don't let it be true._

The door to the last pod hisses open, and although Kaidan already knows what he'll find, he braces himself for the sight. Sure enough, there's only one occupant, and something heavy sinks straight to the bottom of his stomach. He'd watched Shepard's vital signs blink out on his scanner, one by one, but he'd hoped, perhaps foolishly, that it wasn't true...

But it is, and there is nothing he can do about it now except push back the pain, push back the hysterics that threaten to consume him, and get the job done, even if all he wants to do is fall to his knees and never get up again. Later he can grieve, later he can scream and rant and rail and curse the heavens, and he will, but for now he'll honor her by taking care of her crew.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. Joker doesn't seem to hear him, face white and thin, staring at the wall of the pod.

“Kaidan,” he says bleakly. He's limp in the harness and doesn't move as Kaidan climbs into the pod beside him and finds the catch to release him. “I couldn't do anything.”

“Is your arm broken?” The limb looks wrong, crooked, held loosely to Joker's side as Kaidan pushes the harness aside.

“She got spaced,” says Joker, and Kaidan's stomach twists. “Shepard is...I'm so sorry, Kaidan.”

“Come on. You need to get up to the medbay.”

“Aren't you listening? Shepard is dead!”

The words are like a physical blow, a punch to the face, a punch to the gut. Before now he hasn't spoken them aloud, not even to the soldiers who had greeted him upon their extraction from Alchera. “The commander is MIA, I have taken charge in her absence,” was all he said. It all meant the same, sure. MIA in the wake of a ship's explosion doesn't leave much room for speculation, and he has no doubt that soon enough someone will change that M to a K. But hearing the words aloud...there's a finality to it.

His heart clenches, but it's not something he can deal with. Not yet.

“There's nothing we can do about that now,” he says. “Let the doctor take a look at that arm.”

“She saved my life. She knew she wasn't going to make it.”

Kaidan motions the medical crew in to assist. Joker has no apparent interest in vacating the pod, and Kaidan cannot listen to him, cannot hear him say those words again and again. But if he was hoping for an escape, there is none. The rest of the crew looks to him eagerly, the ones who don't know, waiting for his update on the status of their commander. He doesn't say anything. Liara is the first to understand, her face falling, her blue complexion paling to something grayish. Once she slumps in her seat, clapping her hands over her mouth, the others follow, one by one.

 

-

 

"Shepard once said to me that she didn't want to be defined by the tragedies of her past. She wanted to be judged by her accomplishments and her failures, by the decisions she made and not what was out of her control. She could have let those tragedies define her: so many people knew her only as a kid who narrowly escaped slaughter on Mindoir, or the lone soldier who limped to extraction on Akuze. Either of those experiences could have broken a lesser person, but instead she built upon them, pushed herself forward to live for a future of her own creation. Those experiences affected her deeply. No one would have blamed her for embracing her role as a victim, for hardening her heart against the galaxy after what happened to her, but she didn't. Instead, she took strides to ensure the same thing didn't happen to anyone else. She opened her heart to accept anyone, regardless of race, often against those who would disagree. Because Shepard wanted to save everyone.

"Shepard was never afraid to do what was right. It's easy to follow orders, to rationalize to yourself that you needn't overthink your next move because someone has already done it for you. But giving those orders, especially the tough ones, takes enormous strength. She had that strength, had the knowledge to know that doing what is right is not always what is obvious or easy. When her career, her life was on the line, she never shied away from making that decision. Ultimately she gave her life following that same philosophy.

"Some people are born to be a leader, and you know them by the willingness of their followers. Shepard was born to lead, and any of her crew would have followed her to the edges of the galaxy and back. Some of us did. But she respected us back, respected our opinions, made time to listen to us. She cultivated friendships that are difficult to grow between ranks, between species. She was as much a friend as a commander. Any of us would have died for her. We never doubted that she would do the same.

"We can talk for days about her strengths, about her talents, about what she accomplished as an Alliance soldier and as a Spectre. In the short time that I knew her, I became familiar with all of those things. I expected them. When people talk about her, years from now, that's what they will remember, and I'll remember them, too. But for every comment about her strengths, I'll remember how she struggled with her past and worked to become better. For every marvel at her talents, I'll remember the endless hours of practicing, side by side with her crew. And when they talk about her accomplishments I'll remember how she was quick to help anyone who asked, to take the assignments that others would shy from, giving them just as much attention as any other, working just as hard to help the little guy as the organizations and expecting nothing in return.

“The galaxy is a worse place for her absence, but a better place for what she sacrificed to make it greater. For those of us who knew her...”

Kaidan's voice cracks finally, and he takes a deep breath. Liara meets his eyes and silently urges him on.

“For those of us who knew her, a day will never pass during which we won't think about her and everything she did for us. A day will never pass when we won't grieve for her loss. I'm thankful I had the chance to know her, to call her a friend and comrade, and hope that she is at peace, knowing that she will forever remain a hero in our hearts and minds.”

He's not sure if there's applause as he returns to his seat. Everything is a dull buzzing in his ears, sounds that bleed into each other and melt words into nothingness. It's all he can do to sit stony-faced through the service, to avoid the worried glances from his former crewmates, to stare at the empty coffin and try not to remember her last desperate gasps for oxygen, the life support alarms blaring an unforgettable rhythm in his head.

The service is small for someone as well-known as Commander Shepard. Her death is not widely publicized, but Alliance officials show up, Hackett and Anderson prominent among them. Both of them speak, but he doesn't hear any of the words.

Afterwards, he tries to slip out without being noticed, but is intercepted almost immediately by Joker. Truthfully he's been trying to avoid this conversation, been carefully crafting excuses to keep away from Joker for this very reason.

"Kaidan."

"Flight Lieutenant," he responds stiffly, and Joker raises an eyebrow. His broken arm has been fixed and there's no trace of his injuries from the incident, but there's a tiredness in his eyes that Kaidan knows all too well.

"So that's how it's going to be? Fine. Lieutenant Alenko, I've been meaning to talk to you. I'd salute you, but..." He nods sardonically at the crutches occupying his arms.

"Forget it. What did you need?"

"I just...wanted to apologize."

Kaidan shrugs. "Noted. Anything else?"

Joker flushes with anger. "Can't you be serious with me for a minute? You're hurting, I get it. You liked her. We all did."

"I _loved_ her," snaps Kaidan, and realization dawns in Joker's eyes.

"I...didn't know. I thought you were just fooling around, and..."

"Just 'fooling around' with Shepard? Like I'd risk both our careers just to get in her pants? I loved her, and I never even got to tell her. What the hell good is your apology? It won't bring her back."

"She died because of me."

"And you want, what, exactly, from me? To absolve you? To blame you? She would have done the same for any of us. You're a hell of a pilot and you kept the Normandy online for as long as you could. I know you did. If you hadn't there would have been a lot more dead, myself included. I thank you for that. But your apology doesn't mean anything because it wasn't your fault."

"If I had..."

"It doesn't matter. She's dead." The words come out harsh and tear at his throat on their way up, bringing a wave of pain with them, like a cork leaving a bottle. Joker looks stricken.

"Hey man, listen, I wasn't trying to..."

"Just...go, Joker, okay?"

He doesn't need any more encouragement than that. They've never been friends, not really, but they've gotten along well enough. Later, Kaidan will feel a twinge of guilt for what he said, but sparing Joker's feelings will take up too many of the mental processes he's using to keep from breaking down completely.

Liara is the only one who seems to be handling things worse than he is. While the rest of the crew is solemn and dour-faced, she hasn't stopped crying since the service started, like an alien widow in the front row. It's only been a few days, though, and it's possible it's only now starting to sink in for the rest of them.

Before he gets too much further, Anderson appears at his side and lays a hand on his shoulder. Kaidan really doesn't want to hear his speech, the "I told you so" look no doubt on his face, but he can't exactly walk away from a captain.

"Sir," he says.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant." His voice is gentle. "I know you cared deeply for her."

"Me and a lot of other people, sir."

"You know what I mean." He hesitates. "You spoke well, but you look terrible. Make sure you take care of yourself. She wouldn't want you to fall to pieces in her absence."

"No, sir." He knows he looks awful. Even though his dress blues are perfectly pressed, his appearance in line with every regulation set by the Alliance for formal occasions, his eyes are dull and bloodshot, sunken in his face, and he hasn't slept more than a consecutive hour since it happened.

“If you need bereavement leave, I can arrange it. Just say the word.”

He thinks about it, but in the end he doesn't take it. He goes back to work and tries desperately to forget.

The galaxy doesn't stop spinning without her. It goes on, impersonal and oblivious to her absence, absorbing Kaidan's anger and sorrow until all he feels is numb.

Numb is okay. Numb he can handle.

It's easier to work without dwelling on it, to focus everything on the mission, to spend all of his downtime working out or practicing his biotics, wearing himself down so he'll sleep without dreaming, waking up the next morning to do it again. It's easier to throw himself into missions without really caring if he makes it back alive.

Now that he's off the Citadel, away from the recruitment posters plastered with her face, the endless news reports repeating her name, it's easier to go on living, even if it's this shell of a life.

He knows it's unhealthy. He knows their relationship barely spanned a month. But her death is still a raw open wound in his chest that time refuses to let heal. He loved her. He still loves her, and the unfairness of it all makes him want to scream. The strongest, most capable woman he's ever met, the woman he followed across the galaxy and back, fighting every geth, pirate, and mercenary on the way, the fierce fearless woman who stole his heart is a crumpled frozen body on some godforsaken planet and he, pulled along in her shadow, is still alive.

_Don't think. Don't think about her._

It works for minutes at a time, then hours, but there's always something that brings her back into his mind. Joker reaches out to him, more apologies, more frustration. Liara reaches out to him, something about finding Shepard's body. He doesn't answer either of their messages. There's nothing left to say to Joker, and he'd sleep better at night not thinking about what remains of Shepard they might find in orbit around Alchera.

He operates on autopilot for about five months, spending his downtime with his worried parents on Earth, until he gets a message from Ashley's family.

"We're having a small memorial for Ashley," writes her youngest sister, Sarah. "I know you weren't able to make her funeral because of everything that happened on the Citadel, and I understand if your schedule won't allow it or you aren't comfortable attending, but she spoke a lot about you and we'd love to have you here."

He wavers, but in the end he goes to Sirona, half-hoping the Williams family will find it cathartic to blame him for Ash's death like he deserves to be.

They're all too much like Ash to do that, though.

All three of her sisters, varying in how close they resemble her, greet him cordially, and their mother actually hugs him. He doesn't have fond memories of huge family gatherings (his own family is small, almost non-existent outside of his parents), but it's a nice experience to be surrounded by so many people who are so like Ashley: friendly, kind and willing to listen. It's a pleasant, warm day under a slightly reddish sky, and the backyard is filled with family and friends, all trading stories and memories, and the overall atmosphere is one of hope, a celebration of her life, so different than the misery he's been living in for so long.

Sarah sits next to him later in the evening. She resembles Ashley the most, with the same generous mouth and curious eyes, and he finds it hard to look at her too closely.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your ship," she says. "Ashley talked about how lucky she was to finally get posted shipboard with such a talented crew. And Shepard was so kind when she called to tell us what happened to Ash."

"It's been rough," he admits. "But this is about Ashley, not me, and not Shepard."

Sarah smiles. "You and Shepard both touched her life in important ways. You don't have to mourn one at the exclusion of the other."

He exhales heavily. "I miss them both."

"Living can be a heavy burden. But I know Ashley died doing what she loved. We should all be so lucky to choose how we end our lives."

Peeling the label on his beer bottle, he shakes his head. "She shouldn't have died at all. I should have. She gave her life to save mine."

It's something he's only confided in Shepard. He doesn't expect Sarah's response to be nearly as understanding. But she just leans back in her seat and fixes him with a thoughtful stare.

"Then I hope whatever you're doing with your life makes her sacrifice worth it."

Long after the gathering is over, long after he's taken the shuttle back home, he finds himself still thinking about those words, and realizes that she's right. If he doesn't change now, if he doesn't stop wallowing in self-pity, he's wasting his second chance, his own life and Ash's, and maybe Shepard's, too. He has to go on- purposefully. No more drifting, no more wandering, no more existing without reason.

He owes Ashley that much. He owes them both that much.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

2185 – Vancouver

 

November 13th is the date of Shepard's death.

Every year Kaidan feels it creeping up quietly, an unexplained unsettling in his stomach in the days before, an unease when he crosses the squares off the calendar, ready to blindside him when he wakes up on the anniversary of that fateful day. He doesn't make a point of scheduling around it, but it always works out that he has the evening and next morning off regardless.

This year he's on Earth. The biotics division is a good assignment for him, and though it means more nights with migraines than without, he's hardly bothered. The headaches afford him less time to think, less time to dwell, and the biotic exertions mean that he falls asleep within moments of hitting the pillow. It's good, rewarding work, helping people like himself learn to use their abilities, and it makes him feel like a person again instead of the broken shell he's been for two years.

It's nice having friends, nice being able to smile once in a while, to laugh genuinely if not as loudly as he used to. It's nice to have a date on the Citadel, to attempt some semblance of a normal life, even if he's not sure he's ready for it. He's even happy sometimes, more often than he used to be, slowly accepting that there's some beautiful things remaining in life and taking the time to appreciate them while he's here.

But tonight, like clockwork, like a VI bound to its programming, he leaves the training ground for the bright lights of the city, for the seediest bar he can find, and drinks to the memory of his commander.

Two years. Two years and he can't forget her, two years and she's still as vivid and lively in his memory as ever. Yes, maybe he's starting to forget the little things: the exact cadence of her voice, the precise shade of her eyes, but he still remembers her sly smile, the touch of her lips at his jaw, the lithe slide of her body when she curled up next to him. He drinks to her ferocity, her tenacity, her passion. He drinks to fill something empty inside that is never quite topped off, that drains faster the more he thinks of her.

He's considered visiting her grave, but she's not there. He's thought about catching a shuttle to Alchera, but the idea of visiting makes him shake all over. He's thought about going to Mindoir, but what's the point? She's gone- lost to the void of space, lost to the rest of the galaxy, living on only in his memories and fading even then. So he drinks to her.

“It's just not fair,” he murmurs to himself, and the guy a few seats down from him glances over, taking in his Alliance uniform.

“It never is,” he agrees, bobbing his head.

“She deserved so much more.”

“They always do.”

The man raises his glass, and Kaidan raises his in return, and they go back to drinking in silence.

It's late by the time he stumbles to a taxi, but he's not done. He sits outside his quarters, in the grass, under the stars, and opens a bottle of whiskey to toast her, to toast Ash and Jenkins and Pressley and the rest of the Normandy crew who didn't make it off the ship.

Is it stupid, risky? Sure. Is it necessary? Absolutely. It's once a year. Once a year he cracks, once a year he breaks, takes the awful sick hangover as a penance for being a survivor where so many did not. Maybe one year he'll stop. Maybe he won't. Maybe the pain will fade with time.

So far it hasn't.

 


	21. Chapter 21

2185 - ???

 

It is an unfortunate reality of Shepard's life that she will, far more often than most people, wake to find herself under attack. It's normal enough that she can spring into action without adjustment, but when she wakes today there's an unfamiliar fog in her brain and stiffness in her joints as she rolls out of bed- no, off a table, blinking stupidly at the ceiling as though to see the voice that is yelling at her.

Considering she's spent most of her life in the military, she knows it's better to obey voices barking orders than to question them, especially when the room shakes like it's being pounded with heavy missile fire.

Lab equipment rattles and glass vials fall and shatter around her as she pulls on the armor with clumsy fingers. It's new armor, she notices- heavier and more expensive, to be sure, far better than the Onyx set she was wearing when she...

_Oh God._

_Tight, burning in her chest, desperate sucking breaths for oxygen that isn't there, sparks and flames from the dying ship burning bright in the vast empty void of space-_

“Shepard, there's no time! You have to go now!”

She snaps the last of the armor into place and snatches up the pistol. Another new, expensive piece. Time passed, she realizes. She suffocated to death in space, or maybe not, but she's lost time. Months, for tech to have progressed like this. Another blast rocks the lab around her. She follows the voice out of the room.

It's not a hospital, like she'd guessed- it's some sort of science facility- unless hospitals are routinely patrolled by hostile mechs now. Her pistol makes short work of them. Whatever changes have occurred otherwise, a gun still works the same as ever.

Bodies litter the hallways. Behind bulletproof glass she sees massive hulking machines prowling the corridors and mowing down any human they come across. She wants to stop and stare in disbelief ( _who needs a mech that big, and why?_ ) but the voice urges her on.

“I need answers!” she shouts at the ceiling, but none are forthcoming.

She rounds a corner, shoots two partially paralyzed mechs, and finds herself in a small office- and there are the answers she is looking for, scattered amidst a mountain of questions.

She died- _did she die?_ \- and the people here have spent a fortune to bring her back- to fix her? She doesn't understand. It's not an Alliance facility. That she can tell right away, unless they made some major changes while she was...dead. Unconscious? No. She knows what happens when you get spaced. It's the first thing you learn when you join the Alliance: _if you fuck up in space, you will die. You'll pass out, you'll suffocate, your body will swell and then you'll be a frozen corpse drifting through the cosmos._ You don't just pass out and wake up in a lab somewhere with apparently no damage from the experience besides massive confusion.

So. She died. And yet she's alive. Only not for long, because it seems every machine in this facility is hell-bent on destroying her for some reason.

Okay. At least there's some sense being made.

Her suit has no radio, no means of contact. Her omni-tool finds no connection to the outside world. Her only choice, therefore, is to keep shooting until she finds a better option.

Luckily that happens fairly quickly.

Whoever Jacob Taylor is, he knows more about what's happening than Shepard does. Which isn't to say he knows a lot about it- he's as stumped as she is as to why everything wants to murder them- but he at least presumably knows what day it is and where they are, so she'll chalk it up as a win.

“The Normandy,” she blurts out, as soon as they have a moment to breathe. “Do you know what happened to my crew?”

He tells her as they hurry down the corridors: many of the crew survived, many were killed. Kaidan is alive. Her ground crew made it out. She breathes a sigh of relief for the first time since she woke up for the lives of those who made it and mourns the sacrifices of those who did not. And he tells her that she was one of the ones who did not survive the crash.

And then he tells her who he's working with.

 

-

 

Shepard hates Miranda Lawson from the moment she sees her.

Jacob is earnest and respectful, besides his obvious flaw of being a Cerberus shill, but Miranda exudes superiority from every microscopic pore, regarding Shepard as something unpleasant stuck to the sole of her expensive, impracticably high-heeled boots. Taking the shuttle away from the besieged facility was a necessary evil, but with every passing moment Shepard has to keep from directing a punch at the woman's perfect face.

“I'm not going to help Cerberus.”

Miranda regards her coolly. “Whatever you say, Commander. I can't say I don't relish the idea of reminding the Illusive Man that I predicted this very situation, but I'm sure the two of you will have much to discuss that might change your mind.”

Shepard crosses her arms. “Fat chance.”

“I want to test your memory,” continues Miranda, ignoring her petulance. “You've been out for two years, there's bound to be some things you don't-”

“Two years? I've been gone for...that long?”

For a moment she forgets the present, drops her hostility. Could it really have been that long? She remembers the Normandy going down in flames like it was yesterday, remembers the exact sensation of her lungs straining for air, can still see Kaidan's worried eyes behind his visor. She can picture the stunned horror on Joker's face a split second before the escape pod's door had hissed shut.

“Does everyone think I'm dead?” she asks quietly, unsure if she really wants to know the answer.

“You were dead,” says Miranda smoothly. “In every sense of the word. Your friends have mourned you, the Alliance buried a shiny casket with no body inside, memorials have been erected.”

“Why weren't they told what you were doing? The Alliance should have known! Ka- my friends should have known.”

“The Alliance didn't spend four billion credits to bring you back. They were perfectly happy to forget about you and move on. As for why we didn't tell them? They aren't exactly close friends of ours.”

She closes her eyes. Two years, gone. Two years everyone has mourned and forgotten her, returned to their lives. She's an outsider now, an interloper into lives that have gone on without her, despite her; lives that, in her eyes, she's still a part of. How do you reach out to somebody after that?

The galaxy is unfair. She knows that, has known that since she was sixteen, has gotten stark reminders more times than she can count, but only now does she wonder if it's gone beyond that, if it's actively working against her.

"Why am I here?" she asks. "Why did you bother bringing me back? Why waste all the time and money you did when you could have trained your own class of N7s? What happens if I decide to kill both of you and blow my own brains out right here in this shuttle?"

"I just explained to you the resources that were used to bring you back," says Miranda coldly. "Would you not assume I have a contingency plan in place? You will find that your pistol doesn't work inside the shuttle..."

"I don't need a pistol to kill you," hisses Shepard.

"...and the two of us can and will disable you biotically if needed. Furthermore, the Illusive Man has no qualms about taking action against your former friends and crewmates if it helps regulate your behavior. Judging by the foreign DNA found on your body, I understand some of you were quite close."

She doesn't need to say anymore. Heat flares in the tips of Shepard's ears, up her neck. "Go to hell."

"Already there, Commander. Can we get back to my questions or are you going to act like a child the entire trip?"

"Ask your damn questions," replies Shepard, slouching in her seat. Two years, _two years_. What about her crew? What about her job? She has to contact the Alliance, the Council. She has to contact Kaidan- _god, what he must have gone through?_ And she herself, with the ache of exertion taking its toll on a body that hasn't moved in so long, the skin too tight like an ill-fitting suit. They brought her back. Brought her back from what?

"Your pre-service history is straightforward," Miranda is saying. "A colony kid on Mindoir. Lost your parents in the raid in '70, joined the Alliance in '72."

"Wow, Cerberus sure is great at pulling unclassified info off the extranet. Any other breaking news you found on me?"

Miranda continues as though she had not spoken. "You were recommended for N training after surviving an incident on Akuze-"

Shepard is not aware of lunging at Miranda, of the sudden explosion of anger triggered by those few simple words. It's as though she disconnects and it's someone else reaching for Miranda's exposed white throat, screaming " _how dare you talk to me about Akuze!_ " and the litany of rage-propelled threats that follow. She forgets her precarious position, forgets about Kaidan and her crew and the limits of her new body, and has a fistful of the padding from the seat back behind Miranda's head before she's thrown back against her own seat by two waves of biotics.

She spends the rest of the trip sedated.

 

-

 

Shepard has known what it means to be trapped.

She's been backed into corners, relying on the skill of crewmates to get her free. She's spent a restless night on Mindoir, shaking and sobbing and praying that she won't be found. She's been sent off on missions she can't refuse, been confined to the Citadel, bore the scrutiny of a superior officer's eyes and come back to tell about it.

But this is the first time a trap has come with so much freedom.

The ship is beautiful, an upgrade from the original masterpiece, and Shepard has thought more than once about steering it and its Cerberus crew directly into the nearest star and ridding the galaxy of a few stains on humanity. But loathe as she is to admit it, the mission is a worthy one, and Shepard has never been the type to let people die when she could do something to stop it.

So she sits in her quarters and tries not to think about how many sticky spider threads are keeping her squarely in place in this web spun by her worst enemies.

Her body is wrong, all wrong. When she takes off her clothes in front of the bathroom mirror there's a network of scars that run the length of her entire form, a grisly jigsaw puzzle where the edges don't quite line up. They will fade, says Miranda, but Shepard can't stop looking at them, like she's Frankenstein's monster made up from parts that aren't hers. The worst scars are the ones that aren't there, the ones hard-earned on places like Mindoir and Akuze that have vanished from her skin without a trace. She stands in front of the mirror for a long time, studying the differences, noting with quiet horror what Cerberus brought back and what they left behind.

How much is really her?

"Your vital signs indicate distress, Shepard," says EDI's disembodied voice. She hates that voice, the constant skin-crawling sensation of being watched wherever she is on the ship, even in her own goddamn bathroom. "Is there anything I can assist you with?"

Shepard doesn't take her eyes from her reflection. "Do you have data on the Lazarus Project I can access?"

"I am afraid I cannot comply with that request."

"Of course not. What about a photo of me from before I...before the original Normandy was destroyed?"

"I will send it to your omni-tool."

Besides the new scars, the most glaring difference between her old face and new is the absence of the scar she got on Akuze, the one that neatly divided the outermost third of her left eyebrow from the rest. Whether they erased it purposefully to disconnect her from those events or it was just a routine fix, she doesn't know. She doesn't care. She wants it back.

Casually, calmly, she punches the corner of the mirror as hard as she can. An alarm goes off as the shattered pieces rain into the sink and clatter over the floor. With her baleful holographic image and the remains of the mirror as a guide, she uses a thick sliver to redraw the line of red in its proper place, splitting her eyebrow where it was split 8 years ago by the cruel results of a Cerberus experiment. It's a reminder that she refuses to forget, one that she wears so she can never forget what Cerberus is capable of.

She's heartened by the fact that it hurts and by the fact that she bleeds. That is real, and she is real, and the relief is worth the pain. She's less heartened when her door opens and she's hauled to the medbay for another round of sedation.

"If you heal it, I'll just do it again," she warns Chakwas before she slips under, and she's sure she sees the doctor nod before the darkness sweeps over her again.

When she gets back to her quarters, the mirror is fixed, the mess is cleaned, and her reflection still bears its new and angry red gash, returned to where it belongs.

 


	22. Chapter 22

2185 – Normandy SR-2

 

"I'm not here to make friends," says Shepard, crossing her arms and surveying the group assembled in front of her. "In case it's not obvious, I don't want to be here at all. But we're stuck together for the time being, so let me lay down some rules. I don't want any bullshit. You dick around, you're off the ship. We're putting this team together, doing our thing, and then we're done."

"You don't have to be hostile," replies Miranda. "Everyone is here to help you. We'll do whatever you ask."

"Yeah? What if I ask you to inject thresher maw acid into your veins?" asks Shepard coldly. "I hear Cerberus is into that shit."

If she expects Miranda to be cowed, she's disappointed. The dark-haired woman merely flicks her gaze skyward for an instant and smiles as though she's silently asking the ceiling to give her strength.

"Does the Alliance teach you to threaten your crew?"

"They taught me to take control of a situation, and they taught me not to take shit from my crew. The only words I want to hear out of your mouth are 'yes, ma'am.' That goes for all of you. I'll watch your asses as long as I'm obligated to, you don't have to worry about that. After that, I strongly urge you to find new employment."

"You're laying on the charm a little too thick," Joker tells her later, when she's taken a seat in the cockpit beside him. "Fire a couple of warning shots next time, ease the tension."

"I don't want there to be any misconceptions about what we're doing here."

"Yeah no, I think you've got that covered. All work and no play, no fun zone, et cetera."

"Why the fuck would you join Cerberus?" she asks. "If you weren't here I wouldn't feel so conflicted about seeking out the self-destruct button on this thing."

"Have you _seen_ this ship?" But the humor fades from his face when her expression remains stony. "Jeez, Shepard. Do you know what happens when the Alliance grounds you? You ever have the one good thing in your life taken away? If the _geth_ offered me a pilot job, I'd have considered it."

"The things they've done..."

"So I could have believed them when they said they made mistakes and they wanted to help humanity, or I could have refused without actually knowing any of the facts and kept doing busy work at a desk where you aren't even allowed to wear a hat."

Shepard huffs a laugh. "You do love your hats."

"And they said they had you."

"In a manner of speaking, I guess they did," she admits. "Not by choice."

"Yeah well, the last time I saw you, you were going down in the wreckage of the Normandy. Then I saw you on that table and you were alive, and...it was like every daydream I had for the past two years: you come back, I get a ship, everything goes back to how it was."

She admires the meticulously designed controls, the familiarity of the cockpit and the differences. It's clear they have poured no small amount of money into this ship. Into her. But why?

"How do you know I'm not a trick? Some VI program stuffed into a Shepard-shaped body?"

Joker fiddles with his chair, looking uncomfortable. "At the risk of sounding sappy? I just really needed it to be you."

She cracks a smile finally. "That's gross, Joker," she teases, but she's touched nonetheless.

"Right? I'm totally regretting it. Forget I said it."

"Already done. So what to we do now?"

"Fight some bugs, save the galaxy, the usual."

“Shit's a little different this time around.”

“Let's see: risk life and limb, check. Fly the best ship in the Milky Way, check. Probably get zero thanks for our trouble, check,” he says, leaning back in his chair and ticking off each statement on his fingers. “Sounds like our average tour.”

 

-

 

Anderson has always been a figure deserving respect, thinks Kaidan as the councilor welcomes him into his office on the Citadel. He's seen so many soldiers rise through the ranks and get drunk on their own power and turn into insufferable pricks, but Anderson has remained down-to-earth and personable throughout his career, and even offers Kaidan a drink before bringing the galaxy crashing down on him.

“I hesitated to contact you on this assignment, to be honest,” he says, sitting down and motioning to Kaidan to do the same. There's a datapad in his hands that he doesn't seem to want to hand over. “I understand if you don't want to take it, but I had to offer.”

Puzzled, Kaidan extends an arm to receive the datapad.

“It's a security feed from Omega,” explains Anderson. “Does anything strike you about it?”

Kaidan has never been to Omega, never planned to go, so he's unsure what he's supposed to see. The vid shows a line outside what appears to be a popular nightclub, people milling about. And then- three figures, striding past, led by a woman in black who might have walked directly out of his past. Her face is visible for only a few seconds, but she glances directly up at the camera and Kaidan's heart drops into his stomach.

“Shepard never mentioned visiting Omega,” he says slowly.

“No, I suppose she wouldn't, unless you've talked to her in the last four days. This was taken less than a week ago outside Afterlife.”

He realizes that Anderson is watching him closely. Nothing makes sense all of a sudden. “I don't understand,” he says. “That's not possible. Shepard is...well, dead.”

“She hasn't contacted you?”

“She's dead,” he says again.

“And yet I see a woman who looks a hell of a lot like her on Omega's security tapes this week.”

Kaidan attempts a laugh. There's not much humor to it. “So...what, someone's...impersonating her?”

“During the time that video was taken, an alien plague was eradicated and an assassin calling himself Archangel went missing. Aria T'Loak swears that she saw and spoke with Shepard regarding both matters.”

“She's mistaken,” says Kaidan shortly. “Shepard is dead. As much as I hate to say it, that's the truth. God knows I'd want to see her alive more than anyone, but...” He trails off, agitated. What is Anderson's game, exactly? Should Kaidan care that someone is styling themselves off of his dead ex-lover and commander?

“Aria doesn't make mistakes,” muses Anderson. “You're certain that Shepard didn't contact you?”

“She's _dead_!” It comes out louder than he meant it to as he half rises from his chair. “She can't contact me or anyone else! What exactly are you trying to say here? That she came back to life?”

Anderson sighs. “Not exactly, no. I think we have to examine the possibility that she was never dead to begin with. She might have taken the opportunity to fake her death during the destruction of the Normandy, or she might have been taken by a passing ship...I don't know. However I do know that the people she's with in that vid are Cerberus personnel.”

A short, harsh laugh escapes Kaidan's lips. “That's impossible. Even if she were alive, Shepard wouldn't associate with Cerberus. Ever. Not after Akuze. Not after Kahoku. Just the idea...”

“I don't have any explanation for it, either,” says Anderson, “but here we are. The facts are these: Shepard was positively identified by several people on Omega in the past week, accompanied by Cerberus employees. Prior to that she was not seen since the Normandy was destroyed two years ago. Her former pilot Jeff Moreau is also missing, and Karin Chakwas tendered a resignation to the Alliance two weeks ago.”

“Joker's gone?” He thinks back to all the messages from Joker he deleted in the wake of Shepard's death. He never read them, didn't want any reminder of the events leading up to losing Shepard, didn't want to ease Joker's guilt or add more on.

"Again, this is speculation, but the timing is questionable. It could very well be a hoax. An elaborate one, certainly, but for what reason I couldn't say. I wanted you to have the facts straight from the Alliance before rumors start circulating. If Shepard is alive..."

Kaidan shakes his head. "Please stop saying it. It took me two years to come to terms with her death. I can't handle false hope. Not now."

He half-expects Anderson to reprimand him, to remind him why fraternization is not allowed; he doesn't. "I won't bring it up again, unless I learn something new. In the meantime, I have an assignment for you. It is somewhat related. Colonists are disappearing, and we think Cerberus might be involved...”

 

-

 

Shepard desperately needs someone to listen.

The problem is, she doesn't trust anyone around her. Joker would be the most obvious option, if not for his intrusive new co-pilot, no doubt merrily transmitting every word spoken straight to the Illusive Man. She spends time with him anyway, chatting in the cockpit and occasionally telling EDI to fuck off when she butts in, but she's not comfortable discussing the big questions.

_Did I really die?_

Miranda would be the person to ask that, but Shepard hates the woman with a fury she never thought she was capable of, even more than she wants to know the answers to her questions. Miranda could explain it all if Shepard was willing to ask.

_What does Cerberus want with me?_

She doesn't trust the Illusive Man's cryptic answers. Why spend the time and money to bring her back to face the Collectors when there were so many easier options? What happens after the Collectors are gone? Somehow she doesn't think he'll just let her walk away.

She misses her old crew horribly, misses the casual chats and the stories and the stupid missions, misses Garrus and Wrex and Tali and Ash and Liara and Kaidan, always Kaidan. She tries to write to him but wherever he's gone, it's somewhere unreachable. She tries to look him up on the extranet but he's mysteriously absent. In both cases, she suspects she's being thwarted by EDI or her new assistant Kelly or both, and she decides she doesn't want the Illusive Man to know how badly she wants to check up on her former lover. Is he her former lover? Surely he's moved on- a man like that, with his background, with his heroics at the Citadel? He's likely married and long forgotten her. The idea twists her insides. It seems like merely a week ago that she was in bed with him, talking lazily about their future, and now she's lost him to the turning of a clock that only he saw ticking.

Ashley would listen, if Ashley was still around.

The only thing to do is to keep active, keep moving, leave no time to think. It hurts less to keep herself too occupied to remember the heady days of love and passion on the Citadel, the thrill of the chase across the Traverse with her loyal crew in tow. She visits Omega to begin building her new crew and tries not to think about her old one. It almost works.

She likes Mordin almost immediately, he's strange but smarter than anyone she's ever met. When they bring Garrus aboard, she nearly cries, she's so thankful to see him. Garrus is someone she can talk to, someone who will understand, and he regards her long absence as a mere vacation, hungry for new challenges and new foes the same as she is. The hum of the main battery is a good cover to talk under, even if they have to keep their voices low.

"I'd never doubt your sensibility, Shepard, but I wouldn't put too much faith into anything Cerberus says," he tells her as they sit together near the controls, purposefully using the noise to mask their voices. "Regardless, I'm with you. You point, I'll shoot."

"I don't trust anything about this," she admits. "But they spent a lot to bring me back, time and money both. And it's not like they're planning terror attacks on the Citadel. This is a real threat, something that needs to be taken care of."

To her disappointment, Garrus isn't interested in talking about the hows and whys of her resurrection. She gets the feeling it makes him uncomfortable. And why wouldn't it? Plucking a body out of space, half frozen and long dead, and pumping it full of God knows what to make it live again? She wants to confide that she doesn't know what they did, that she doesn't know what she is, what she's made of, how much of her is skin and bone and how much is metal and circuitry, but Garrus has problems of his own to worry about and she doesn't want to lay her burdens on him.

When Anderson calls her to the Citadel, she's elated, sure she has someone to talk to, someone who will be on her side, who's always been on her side. Someone who can help her fulfill her mission without the stain of Cerberus on her hands.

But nothing has stayed the same in her absence.

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

2185 – Citadel

 

"Spectre status," says Shepard hollowly. "Three years ago that was the highest honor I could have dreamed of receiving and now it's like they're rubbing my face in the mud. Restricted to the Terminus systems. No help and a hearty 'don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.'"

"That never stopped you before," replies Anderson. She's aware of how closely he's watching her, as though he expects her to lash out, to break something, to split off her outer shell and reveal something disgusting inside. It would be disheartening if it wasn't merely the latest in a long string of disappointments. She supposes he has reason to doubt her, reason to suspect her, though it hurts to see the hesitation in his eyes.

"They want to keep me hidden. I'm an embarrassment."

"They're being cautious. Hell, you can't blame them, Shepard. You were gone for years, and then you show up in a Cerberus ship? They'd rather people think you were dead than a traitor."

She throws her hands in the air. "I just want to do the right thing! Why does it have to be so hard?"

The old humor creeps back into Anderson's face. "When has it ever been easy? You've marched to the beat of your own drum for a long time. This isn't new. Come on. I'll buy you lunch."

She's calmed somewhat by the time lunch arrives (delivered to his office, she notices, can't be seen around the Citadel with a traitor to the Alliance), and Anderson listens unflinchingly as she spills everything to him: her death, her rebirth, her position between a rock and a hard place, her desire to rejoin the Alliance, her hatred of Cerberus, and above all, her duty to complete the mission no one else wants to consider.

"Are you sure there's nothing the Alliance will do?" she asks, already knowing the answer.

"The Alliance will take you back," he says. "The problem is timing. You'll be under heavy investigation. Your whereabouts for the past 2 years will be an issue, even if Cerberus corroborates your accounts. They'll ground you for however long it takes to finish their inspection and then there will be a trial. It could be months. The Collectors won't sit on the back burner until you're ready to commit your full attention to them, and that's assuming the Alliance believes they're enough of a threat to rally resources against them."

"Great," sighs Shepard. "Another dead end."

"Believe me, I'd help you if I could. I hate the idea of you working with Cerberus in any capacity, much less under duress. But you're rarely wrong."

"And sacrificing me to Cerberus is a lesser evil than sacrificing millions to the Collectors," she replies wryly. "I get it. Hell, I'd do the same."

"Don't think I'm so quick to write you off," he retorts. "I care about you, Shepard. I care about what happens to you. Do you think I like sitting back and watching you paint a target on your back for all our allies? I'd call security up here to detain you in a heartbeat if I thought it would stop you from boarding that ship again. But I don't think you'd thank me for it when the Collectors show up."

She tosses her chopsticks onto her half-eaten lo mein and leans back in her chair.

"I know," she says. "I don't know what I expected to gain by coming here."

"You already know you're doing the right thing," he says kindly. "You don't need my absolution for that."

"No, but it's nice to have regardless," she replies, and they both laugh.

She feels marginally better. Anderson believes her (doesn't he?), and even if he can't do anything to support her, it raises her spirits to know she's not completely alone in the galaxy. Obviously anything else will only be pushing her luck.

She tries it anyway.

"Do you know what happened to Lieutenant Alenko?" she asks, feigning a casualness she doesn't feel and that does not fool Anderson in the least.

"Staff Commander Alenko is still with the Alliance," he says at length. "He's currently on a classified mission. That's the most I can tell you as long as you're with Cerberus."

"Is he...okay?" It comes out hesitant, and she's embarrassed by the way her voice trembles at the end. Anderson frowns, but he doesn't seem angry.

"He's as well as can be expected," he says. "We were all blindsided by what happened to you, but he took it especially hard. I admit, I wouldn't have been nearly as critical of your relationship with him had I known how serious it was. When we first began hearing reports that you might be alive, I contacted him, and he was adamant that you would never betray the Alliance."

"I didn't betray the Alliance," she protests, heat flaring in her cheeks. "He knows I'm alive?"

"He's heard the rumors like the rest of us," Anderson admits. "Whether he believes them or not..."

"Can you get a message to him? Please?"

"I'm going to give you some advice," he says. "You aren't going to like it."

She scrubs at her face with one hand and waits for the inevitable.

“Any contact with Alenko during your time with Cerberus, while cathartic for you, perhaps, will only serve to upset him.”

“He'd want to hear from me, I know he would!”

“And what happens when you fly through the Omega-4 Relay? What happens if you don't come back? Are you prepared to break his heart all over again? You'd put him through that, again, just for some closure on your relationship?”

Her mouth opens, then closes again.

“I love him,” she says finally. It's the first time she's said it, the first time she's realized it, but it's real, and it seems right as it slips from her tongue.

“Then you should want what's best for him.” There is no malice in Anderson's voice; indeed, he is speaking kindly, but she hates what he's telling her. “Let it go, Shepard. Move on, and let him move on. If you come back...if you rejoin the Alliance...”

Suddenly her throat is tight. She swallows hard. “I just want to know he's okay.”

“No, you don't. You want to see him, want to talk to him, want to touch him. I understand that. God knows with everything else you've been through, a friendly face would mean more to you than anything right now. But it can't be that simple. If you talk to him you'll owe him an explanation, and frankly I don't think you have one that he'll accept. Not yet. When you come back triumphant, talk to him then. Don't torment him now when he's finally started to heal.”

“This isn't fair,” she mutters, mostly to herself, and Anderson touches her arm.

“None of this is fair,” he agrees. “I'm sorry, Shepard. I really am.”

“I should...probably go,” she says numbly.

The expression on his face turns to concern, and she thinks that just maybe, maybe she really has convinced him that he's talking to the real her, not some clone or brainwashed host.

“I'm proud of you for doing this,” he says. “You have every reason to walk away, but you aren't. When you go back out there...just please be careful. I want to see you come back victorious. You got a second chance, and...you deserve to make the most of it.”

“Thanks, Anderson,” she says. “I'll do my best.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

2185 – Horizon

 

The rumors leave a lingering bad taste in Kaidan's mouth. On Horizon they are easier to escape, one fleeting conversation thousands of light years away, but he can't stop the sudden intrusions into his mind when his thoughts wander back to that conversation with Anderson.

Dead women don't come back to life, not even women as remarkable and unstoppable as Shepard. God knows he's wished they did.

Maybe it's loneliness that lets her drift back to his thoughts, the memories of her easy laughter and wry humor, where the residents of the colony are not particularly pleased to see him. Maybe it's the colony itself, a stark reminder of Eden Prime and the way Shepard described Mindoir in her soft throaty alto. But more likely it's the nagging feeling that he's missing something, so far away from the rest of his former crew.

He's considered sending messages, maybe to Liara, maybe to Joker, but stopped himself before he let himself reach a terminal. It would be an exercise in futility, would draw attention to the fact that he's still not come to terms with her death. He doesn't want that pity, doesn't want the whispers that maybe, just maybe he's finally succumbed to the dangers of his L2 implant, that he's stressed himself to the point of asking after a woman he saw slowly suffocate to death in the void of space.

She's gone. He knows she's gone. But why would someone be impersonating her? Shepard was well-known, well-respected, but not particularly well-liked across the galaxy. Her reputation preceded her as a no-bullshit hardass who caused as many problems as she solved, and her popularity did not increase in death. Anyone who wanted her identity would have to take the issues that came along with it.

But it gnaws at him. News is scarce in the colony so far-flung from the rest of the civilized galaxy, so it's rare when he can catch up with what's happening out there, but sometimes a story will catch his attention and he'll automatically think of her. _Sounds like something Shepard would have done_ , he catches himself thinking, watching a news report about a destroyed prison ship that turned out to be a scam run by mercenaries. _That's familiar_ , he muses when he hears about a Blood Pack base being wiped out by unknown assailants.

He's waist-deep in the electrical systems of the broken laser turrets, wishing wryly that Garrus was around to help with the calibrating, when one of his colleagues shouts that the radios are out. _As though things aren't bad enough_ , he thinks, and Shepard is temporarily banished from his mind as he goes to investigate. She'll be back before too long, he's sure.

 

-

 

2185 – Normandy SR-2

 

"Have you checked on that...thing in the storage hold under engineering?"

The obvious irritation in Miranda's voice is almost worth the trouble of nearly getting captured and sold on the prison ship, thinks Shepard to herself as she scrolls down the datapad she is reading.

"She calls herself Jack."

"I know what she calls herself."

"What's with the attitude? This was all your boss's idea, and we all know he's never wrong."

"I just want to be sure she doesn't blow a hole in the ship since you gave her access to data she was never meant to see."

Enjoying the underlying anger too much now, Shepard just shrugs. "What, are you implying Cerberus has something to hide? I would never have guessed at such a thing!"

Miranda puts her hands on her hips and glowers. "It was a splinter group, long since disbanded. We do not condone what happened to...Jack."

"Sure got a lot of splinter groups. Akuze was one too, right?"

"Cerberus itself broke from the Alliance," says Miranda, as though it proves her right. Shepard tosses her datapad aside and gets to her feet, stretching.

"Might as well try to be friendly. Never provoke a biotic with a temper."

"I might remind you that I, too, am a biotic."

Shepard smiles. "In the same way that a private and an admiral are both soldiers, sure."

“You're utterly charming, you know that?”

Truthfully she's not sure what to make of Jack, who keeps to herself in the lowest part of the ship and emerges only to raid the kitchen when everyone else is asleep. Jack has no stake in the mission, and her hatred of Cerberus makes her a danger to most of the crew, though Shepard can hardly fault her for that. But she is powerful- the most powerful biotic she's ever seen.

"Jack?" she calls down the stairs. The last thing she wants to do is startle the less-than-stable woman into attacking. An affirmative grunt is the only response: more acknowledgment than welcome.

Jack is lying on a cot that she has apparently liberated from the medbay, scrolling through news feeds on her omni-tool. She doesn't spare Shepard more than a cursory glance.

"Something you want?"

"To talk to you. Anything interesting in that Cerberus data?"

"Nothing I didn't already know." Though her manner is relaxed, Shepard feels the tension rolling through the stagnant air, the feigned apathy a cover for the way she's calculating every move. "I don't get why you're here, though. Got your first crew killed, so you owe Cerberus for getting you a new one?"

A stab of annoyance. "You're not too far off," she says instead.

"Thanks for keeping your word, anyway," says Jack. "I don't really get it, but I'll keep mine, too. Help you fight these Collector...bugs or whatever."

"That's all I ask."

Still pretending to read the news, Jack is watching her out of the corner of her eye. "I looked you up on the extranet. You're supposed to be dead."

"Cerberus brought me back."

"That's fucked up."

"Tell me about it."

"From what I've seen they're better at making things dead than bringing them to life. You better watch your ass, Shepard. Your prissy little XO might seem all sweet and pretty now, but once you've stomped on all the bugs for Cerberus she'll have some other reason to keep you around and before you know it you'll either be torturing kids for profit or locked in one of their labs while they try to figure out what makes you tick and how they can exploit it."

"I don't plan on sticking around a moment longer than necessary," Shepard assures her.

"You're not as stupid as you look, then. Let me know when you plan to bail. What did you come down here to talk about, anyway?"

Shepard shrugs. "Miranda seems to think you're going to blow up the ship."

Jack sneers. "Not while I'm on it, obviously."

“I had a good friend who was a powerful biotic.”

“I don't care.” Jack averts her attention back to her datapad. “I'm not here to be your friend. Let's not make this more complicated than it is.”

_What a treat you are_ , thinks Shepard to herself. “I get it. I'm here if you need anything regardless, Jack.”

“I don't need anything but a neverending line of bad guys to shoot at, and I'm sure you'll keep those coming,” replies Jack. “You wanna leave now?”

Shepard raises her palms in a gesture of surrender. “I'll leave you to it.”

“I mean it,” says Jack, turning her head finally to look at Shepard, and she pauses on the stairs. “Don't trust them.”

There's something troubling in that gaze.

“I won't,” Shepard assures her.

 


	25. Chapter 25

2185 – Horizon

 

He's sure he's hallucinating.

It's been hours, too many to count, nearly a day, he thinks: he remembers the sun setting and rising again and the ache in his body as he stood frozen, unable to move, unable to sleep for fear of the hideous creatures moving around him, taking their time dragging off the rest of the colonists because there's no need to hurry, casting him glances he's sure are meant to be contemptuous if he could figure out what kind of facial expressions these things have. He remembers screaming silently into his head, urging his body to move, just the slightest bit, just to prove he can, but finding every nerve unresponsive. And then suddenly he wasn't frozen, falling to the ground on legs that are too stiff to hold him up, massaging the feeling back into them, the pain in his head growing and growing and the sound of gunfire in the distance. Is someone calling to him?

“Where are you?”

He has to be hallucinating.

He hears voices, shouting, and sees the Collector ship preparing to take off, and tries to run, to chase it down, to do...anything, but what can he do? He can barely walk, can barely aim his gun, needs more than anything to eat and drink and sleep, and he keeps hearing Shepard's voice in his head, shouting orders. Calling his name.

“Kaidan! Can you hear me?”

He's hallucinating.

Or that woman sounds just like her.

He crawls towards the center of the colony, drags himself to his feet, grapples with a husk that escaped the rest of its group, and stares at the dead woman in the N7 armor who might have walked right out of his memory.

She doesn't see him. She's shouting orders, diving for cover, brandishing a sniper rifle with ease, just like she always did, making shot after beautiful shot, her face contorted with concentration. It's a dead woman's face, sharp and beautiful, hard and military, marked with more scars than he remembers. It's a dead woman's body that rolls effortlessly across open ground to avoid the white-hot beam of the Collector monster advancing upon her. There's a cut across her nose and a bruise on one cheek, but it's her. No impostor could replicate such a woman, no disguise could capture her ferocity.

And if this wasn't proof enough, there's Garrus. Kaidan feels like he's gone back in time, back to when they were a team and he fought beside them both, and half expects Liara or Tali or even Ashley to walk out onto the battlefield next.

He's hallucinating.

Right?

But when he's gathered himself, when his legs work again, he walks out to her, and her eyes go wide at the sight of him. She smiles- that smile, that impossibly bright smile, and he knows that she's real. Nothing, not even his memories could replicate that smile, the one that transforms her hard face into something animated and beautiful.

"You're alive," he says. It's all he can think to say. There are tears in his eyes. He's not sure what to feel, it's all too much, all mixed together. Relief, yes, first and foremost, relief that the loss he thought he suffered wasn't real after all, that those years spent mourning are behind him, that the woman he loved, the woman he still loves, in standing in front of him. He reaches out to her and she lets herself fall into his arms.

The armor is different, but she fits against him just like she always has. Her hands are trembling where they touch his back. The smell of gunfire and sweat and blood is the same as always. He buries his face in her hair, feeling her melt against him.

"I can't believe it's you," she says. “My God, Kaidan. I'm so happy to see you.” Her voice is the same, but thin, shaky, full of emotion, and when she smiles up at him with watery eyes he feels like a missing piece of his heart snaps back into place.

He wants to live in that moment forever.

But something's wrong. She died, didn't she? He saw her die. He saw the lights blink out as the void of space crushed the life from her body. Unless she faked her death, unless she abandoned them, unless she let him think she was dead for two horrible, miserable years, and if she was capable of such a thing...

"Is that all you have to say? I thought you were dead." He lets her go, even though it's like tearing off a limb.

"I was," she says, and shakes her head. "That's not important right now. The Collectors are taking colonists, and they need to be stopped. That's why I'm here."

"But how are you here? How could you let me think you were dead? I thought we...I loved you, Shepard, and you just disappeared for all that time? Why?"

He has to know, can't just accept that she's walked into his life again, that the one thing he's wanted for two years, two goddamn lonely awful years, is here before him and barely has time to greet him before talking shop.

"I died,” she says again. The bluntness of her reply startles him. “Cerberus found me and brought me back," she says, and his heart sinks. The dark-haired woman is behind her, the one from Anderson's video, with the emblem on her chest marking her as the enemy. It's true, it's all true- Shepard is alive and she's working with Cerberus. He steps away from her and sees the hurt blossom on her face.

"You're working with them?"

"It's not what you think," she says, but he's already shaking his head and backing away, sickness pooling inside him. This isn't Shepard. For all the ways she's similar, this isn't the woman he knew, isn't the woman he loved. He remembers Toombs, remembers the way she beat the beacon on Edolus to smithereens, remembers the haunted look in her eyes when she spoke of Akuze. This is her body, this is her shell, filled with something else, something wrong and malevolent and he can't, just _can't_...

“I was in a coma,” she insists. “Kaidan, this is foolish. I need Cerberus to stop the Collectors. That's it.”

He wishes he could believe her.

“You're a traitor to the Alliance,” he says, and she staggers like he's struck her, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Kaidan,” she says again. It hurts when she says his name.

“It's Cerberus, Shepard. If you've taught me anything it's that you can't trust them. Just...” He shakes his head. He has to do it now, do it before he lets her convince him, before he lets himself fall into her trap. And he _will_ let himself fall, he knows that. “Goodbye. And good luck.”

Walking away from Shepard is the hardest thing he's ever done in his life.

Her death was agonizing. The two years after were a blur of pain and misery. But nothing compares to turning his back on her, on the monster she's become, on the Cerberus apologist in Alliance armor. She calls his name. Her voice is pleading. It takes everything he has to keep walking.

He wants to go back, wants to force her to explain herself. He deserves that much- an explanation, if any exist, but he has work to do. _Alliance first_ , he reminds himself. If he has to cry for what Shepard has become, he'll do it later. And by the time he comes back to the center of the colony, to the battlefield strewn with husks and spent thermal clips, she's long gone.

It's for the best. He can't really remember why with the familiar raw pain of his heart being ripped out, but it is. Maybe he would have hurt her, would have tried to put an end to the creature Cerberus brought back. Maybe he would have let her convince him she wasn't the enemy. Maybe he would have believed her.

 

-

 

Shepard keeps a frozen smile on her face for the duration of the post-mission brief. She's aware that it is, in actuality, quite a frightening expression, radiating no warmth and no cheer, a mechanical movement that is fooling nobody, but if she lets it drop she knows she's going to lose it, and she won't do that in front of these people.

He _refused_ her.

He's alive and well, and refused her.

He loved her, once, and now his eyes hold nothing but contempt, hatred for what she's doing- what she has to do. Of everything she's lost, this is the one that staggers her, this is the one that makes her wonder if any of this is worth it, if there's any reason to thank Cerberus for giving her back her life.

And she still has no one to talk to, and it's worse now, so much worse, her stomach is twisted and she's bursting to tell somebody, _anybody_ how much she hates this, and if she starts she's never going to be able to stop.

But she doesn't.

They hit the Citadel for supplies and she drinks until she blacks out. Coping mechanism- an old habit that she should have broken. It turns out she hasn't broken it. With all the modifications to her body, it takes a lot more alcohol to send her down, but when she does, she goes down hard.

If only waking up on the bathroom floor was the lowest point in her life.

She doesn't have the time to be heartbroken, though. When she heads back to the ship it's with her mind firmly set on the mission, more determined than ever, if only to push through for the sole purpose of rubbing Alenko's face in it.

And saving the galaxy, sure.

She snags a hangover remedy from Chakwas, naps for an hour, and wakes up to a new message from Kaidan. She reads it three times, throws a jacket on, and heads back to the bar.

 

-

 

_KEYSTROKE RECORDING_

_Shepard's Terminal – Normandy SR-2_

 

_-BEGIN NEW MESSAGE_

 

“Dear Kaidan, I”

_ERASE LINE_

 

“Kaidan, look I didn't mean to”

_ERASE LINE_

 

“You know what, fuck you, okay? You didn't even give me the chance”

_ERASE LINE_

 

“I don't know what to do, Kaidan. I never wanted any of this to happen. I thought that if anyone would understand what was going on, it would be you. There are things I have to do, and I hate that I have to do them with Cerberus, but the Alliance isn't coming through and this can't wait. The mission has to come first. I'm sorry that I came back and fucked everything up for you. You'd probably be happier if I'd stayed dead, and you're probably right. I don't know what I am anymore. Maybe I have changed. Maybe I'm not the person you used to know. I have no idea and I'm terrified. Please I need you to talk to me I need someone to"

 

_ERASE LINE_

 

"GO FUCK YOURSELF"

 

_ERASE LINE_

_EXIT WITHOUT SAVING_

 


	26. Chapter 26

2185 – Horizon

 

Horizon is a mess in the aftermath of the Collector attack. Half the colony is missing and the remainder is terrified. Kaidan can't blame them. Thinking of the attacks makes him sick to his stomach all over again, and he was one of the lucky few who did not lose anyone close. At least the defenses are online now (thanks to Shepard, he reminds himself) so they are protected in the event of another attack, but with the element of surprise gone, he doubts the probability of the ship's return any time soon.

Between the repairs, and comforting traumatized colonists, and fending off verbal lashings from others, he has no time to think about what happened with Shepard.

That doesn't mean his mind isn't constantly occupied with her, however.

She lingers on the edge of his thoughts, no matter what he is occupied with, a neverending reminder of what he lost once and what he lost once more. It's like a wound reopened, half-healed and exposed again, and he's honestly not sure he can take it. She died. She's alive. She's a hero. She's a traitor. If he could just stop, just take her by the shoulders and ask her, face-to-face, what the hell is going on, maybe she could make sense of it for him. Maybe. But he gave up that chance- let it slip away, didn't even consider the possibility of hearing her out, and with his heart once again battered and bruised, he tries not to regret it. He lies awake at night, exhausted and aching, and asks the galaxy just what its fucking problem is.

In the end he writes her a letter.

It takes three days, a continued scribble of crossed-out strokes and crumpled paper, words dashed out between shifts and whenever he has a spare moment, but when he finally commits it to the terminal keyboard he presses send before he can convince himself otherwise. It's not everything he wanted to say, hell, he's not sure it even makes sense, but he can't put all of his feelings to paper, can't summarize exactly what the meeting on Horizon had done to him. If it's really her, and he thinks it just might be, maybe it will mean something.

She doesn't write back.

That in itself is almost more to dwell on than a response would be. Is she angry, maybe, that he spurned her? He remembers so clearly how anger looks on her, the sparks in her eyes, the way she gets sometimes when she's infuriated, and pictures that stormy face reading his letter. Is she sad, broken-hearted and bitter by his harsh rejection? That is a harder emotion to picture on her, the lost and lonely way she gets when she's lost in troubled memories, but he doesn't think that's it. Shepard doesn't do that, Shepard doesn't cry over lovers lost and romances cut short.

Or does she not respond because she really isn't Shepard anymore?

Maybe she doesn't remember. Maybe she'd read his letter and cocked her head to the side, puzzled at the emotions he spilled into the terminal, searching her memories for what they used to be and finding nothing of him there. Maybe she doesn't remember the night before Ilos, the dinners together in the mess, the playful flirting and carefully worded banter between them.

That would be the worst, he thinks: Shepard alive but with no memory of him, a living puppet for the people who proved time and again that they are deserving of nothing, no mercy for what they've done, and it makes him sick to think about. Shepard, working for the men and women who perpetrated the disaster on Akuze, standing shoulder to shoulder with villains of the highest degree and counting herself among them.

If that's true, if she's really one of them, then she's not Shepard any longer, just a woman wearing her face.

The comms are back up by the third day after the Collector attacks. Just before he sends his letter to her, he makes contact with the Alliance again. There is no QEC out here, just the impersonal radio communications, full of static and interference.

"Commander Alenko. I just received your report. Backup should be arriving within two hours," says Anderson.

"Thank you, sir. Any word on the ship...?"

"No. None of our patrols saw it, and by the time we heard from you..."

Kaidan knows. Half the colony gone, no way to trace the ship except to reach out to Shepard, who isn't talking to him. If she and Anderson are in contact, neither has mentioned it to him.

"Shepard was there." Anderson states it as a fact, not a question, and Kaidan sits down in the tiny living quarters, resting his forehead against his palm, hunched over with elbows on his knees.

"Yeah."

"What's your read?"

"She's...I don't know. For a minute I thought it really was her. Watching her fight, watching her give orders...it was so familiar. But it just...can't be her. I can't believe that she'd work for Cerberus."

"People change."

"Not Shepard. Not that much. If it's her, she's brainwashed. Maybe they staged the Normandy crash, snatched her out of the wreckage, kept her captive..."

Even as the words leave his lips he knows they aren't true.

"She rescued the colony, yes? Drove off the Collectors? Besides working with Cerberus, did she do anything she wouldn't normally have done?"

_She'd turned to look at him, hope in her eyes, a smile shaky but growing on her face, and embraced him as warmly as ever._ His heart thuds painfully.

"No. She behaved exactly as I would have expected from her."

"Then logically, there's only one conclusion to draw. But your gut is telling you otherwise."

"Did you see her, sir?" he asks. Anderson pauses.

"Yes," he says at length. "She came to see me shortly after the last time you and I spoke, just after the rumors started about her being alive. She asked about you, but I couldn't give her much information. Not as long as she was working aboard a Cerberus vessel."

He closes his eyes and winces. She asked about him.

"Did you think it was really her, sir?"

Again, Anderson is slow to reply.

"I wanted to believe it was her," he says finally. "And there was no evidence to the contrary. She explained that she died, that Cerberus somehow managed to resurrect her, that she wished to take advantage of the resources they were offering her to fight the Collectors. She explained it all to the Council as well. The Council, of course, was not interested in putting faith in her warnings. Again."

“Did you know she would come here?” Kaidan's voice is steady, but quiet. “Is that why you sent me here?”

“We had evidence that Horizon might be hit,” says Anderson. “And we had suspicions of Cerberus involvement. But that was long before Shepard arrived on the scene. Had I known to expect her, I would have taken you off the assignment. Placing you in her path after your history together was not my intention. But since things worked out the way they did, I can use your reaction to gauge how much trust to put into her.”

He thinks about the way her face lit up, the way she embraced him, the hurt in her eyes when he backed away. All of the expressions seemed so real, so familiar. The way her body moved, the sound of her voice, the fit of her in his arms...

“I want it to be her,” he says. “If she wasn't with Cerberus, I'd swear to it.”

“Even the extenuating circumstances aren't enough to change your mind?”

He remembers Edolus, remembers her soft steady voice telling him about Akuze, the pure vitriol in the way she bared her teeth at the Cerberus scientist on Ontarom and nearly gave her blessing to his execution.

She was never a hateful person. Even after the tragedy on Mindoir she learned to tolerate batarians again. But Cerberus...

He shakes his head, though Anderson can't see it. “No sir. She hates Cerberus. She'd sooner die.”

Later, though, when he's lying in bed staring at the ceiling of the tiny prefab, thinking about the press of her body against his, the sound of her laughter, the warmth in the smile she favored him with, he wishes, he hopes that he's wrong.

 

-

 

To: JMoreau

From: KAlenko

 

Joker-

Is this address still valid? I need to get a message to Shepard.

-Kaidan

 

To: KAlenko

From: JMoreau

 

Who? I think you mean Flight Lieutenant Moreau.

 

To: JMoreau

From: KAlenko

 

Very funny. This is important. Don't act like a child. I need to contact her.

 

 

To: KAlenko

From: JMoreau

 

...then send her a message? My job is actually to fly the ship, not deliver messages. It's why my rank is Flight Lieutenant and not Comm Specialist.

 

To: JMoreau

From: KAlenko

 

I did send her a message. She hasn't responded, and I think she blocked me. Can you help me out or not?

 

To: KAlenko

From: JMoreau

 

Ooh, that's rough. It's almost like she doesn't want to talk to you. Can't imagine why. Sure, let me go ahead and remind her that her ex-boyfriend who called her a traitor to her face wants to talk and- oh no, this is going to end badly for me. Are you serious? This is not something I want to be involved in. My body may not be much but I like keeping it non-broken as much as possible.

 

To: JMoreau

From: KAlenko

 

So you're fine working for Cerberus? Nothing strikes you as completely terrible about that? I messed up with Shepard, I know that. I'm willing to entertain the possibility that I could be wrong about her. But I can't know until I talk to her. Will you just ask her to contact me?

 

 

To: KAlenko

From: JMoreau

 

Does the Alliance pay you extra for the ass-kissing? Because you're doing a hell of a job and you should ask for a promotion.

My God, how utterly selfless you must be to admit you just might be wrong about something you don't know shit about! Judge all you want, we're out here for one reason and one reason only, and Shepard has enough on her mind without worrying about how much it hurt your feelings to completely crush her on Horizon. We've got a suicide mission to plan for and she's gotta be at the top of her game if we're going to come back alive.

 

 

To: JMoreau

From: KAlenko

 

What do you mean, "suicide mission"?

 

 

To: KAlenko

From: JMoreau

 

The usual, just going to attack the Collector homeworld. I'll drop you a postcard if we live.

 

 

-

 

"Don't harass Alenko," says Shepard disapprovingly, leaning over Joker's shoulder, dinner trays in hand.

"Then you talk to him. Tell him to quit sending me messages."

"You don't have to reply. Just let him stew."

"And you think I'm the mean one."

Shepard smiles. It's a brittle smile, still hurt and cold, but it's a smile nonetheless. The tiny angry part of her, still nursing a grudge, likes the idea of Kaidan desperately trying to get into contact. The majority is merely ill at ease with the idea of another fight, another argument, another blow to her weakened ego, her fragile mental state. Talking to Kaidan, even through the relatively impersonal method of digital messages beamed across space, will more likely than not leave her feeling worse than she already does if recent events are any indication.

Some part of her is gratified that he is upset with the way things were left between them, that he knows how unfair he was with her, that he wants to dig deeper. But a repeat of Horizon right now would utterly destroy her, and there is too much to do to allow that to happen. The mission will go on, and yes, maybe she will die without seeing him a last time, but it has to be better than letting him rip her apart again, no matter how much it hurts to admit they'll never meet again.

"Commander?" asks Joker uncertainly, and she realizes she hasn't said anything in some time. She quickly rearranges her face, blinks the burning sensation out of her eyes and turns from the console.

"Just leave him alone," she says. "If we survive the Collector base, we can all bicker like schoolchildren afterwards. In the meantime, we have work to do. How much longer til we reach the Citadel?"

"Should be half a day. In a couple hours I'll go on sleep shift so I'll be back by the time we dock." He pauses, spins in his chair a little. "You do think we'll, you know, live through the Collector base, right? We've done more dangerous shit."

"Like landing a ship on an active volcano?"

He gives a huff of amusement. "Yeah, right? Thank God for the shuttle on this baby. No more landing on ridiculously unstable planets or getting mobbed by husks. Not that I still couldn't, mind you. Just cuts back on the amount of time we have to spend dry-docked for repairs."

"Yeah, a pity, and just when you were getting so good at air-dropping the Mako," she teases.

"Hell, the Mako. I'm honestly surprised any of you are still alive after that. I'm pretty sure I saw it tumble down a mountain thirty seconds after I dropped you in it."

“I bet Tali will be glad to hear it's gone. How far is Haestrom from the Citadel?”

"About a week," says Joker as Shepard sets a dinner tray on the console in front of him and settles herself in the co-pilot's seat. "Hopefully Tali will be a little more responsive to us than...certain other people."

"I guess we'll see." She picks at her dinner: pasta alfredo, actually cooked by a chef with some semblance of skill and a vast improvement on the Alliance ration version's half-cooked noodles and gluey sauce. They've certainly spared no expense, she thinks, eyeing the sleek new cockpit and its array of top-of-the-line equipment. "I'm not going to hold my breath. She has every reason not to join. And you can say his name, I'm not going to flip out if you do. Kaidan was a friend. He's following his own path, and that's fine."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but Kaidan's a dick," replies Joker bluntly. "He was a dick at your funeral and he was a dick on Horizon."

She struggles to keep from smiling. "Yeah, that too. But he's a dick who isn't stuck working for Cerberus."

"We aren't stuck. We're graciously extending our services."

"To a terrorist organization who murdered my squad on Akuze. Yeah."

"I might point out that the Akuze incident was a rogue cell-" begins EDI.

"There's really no mute button on this thing?" she asks Joker. The AI does a very convincing impression of an irritated huff.

"Anyway. Kaidan has a point about Cerberus. But I'm done thinking about him. Free and clear."

Joker looks doubtful. EDI, helpful as ever, interjects a similar reaction.

"My systems indicate otherwise. Staff Commander Alenko's name was spoken by you more in the past three days, in public and in private, than in the rest of your time on the Normandy combined, and the high incidence of which occurred in your sleep suggests a high level of attachment still remains."

Shepard goes stock still, and is very careful not to look at Joker. "Sorry, in my _sleep_? You're monitoring my sleep?"

"Of course. I monitor the vital signs of every member of the crew, at all times."

"Yeah, gonna need you to stop doing that immediately."

"I'm afraid I cannot grant that request. It's very important that I understand the routines of each crew member to differentiate stress or illness from other causes of irregularities in their vital signs, such as physical exertion, emotional reactions, sexual liaisons and self pleasure-"

"Oh my God." Shepard closes her eyes. "I'm in a living nightmare. Please tell me the Illusive Man doesn't review this shit?"

"He could access it if he wished," says EDI.

“Wow,” says Joker softly. “I was so much happier five minutes ago when I didn't know any of this.”

“EDI, I swear I will go downstairs and jam a screwdriver into the AI core if you and the Illusive Man don't come to an agreement on a reasonable expectation of privacy within the next ten minutes.”

“A screwdriver would be inefficient. But I will address the issue.”

“Tell me again how the leather seats are worth it?” Shepard says with a shudder.

“Y'know, if we took this baby to the Alliance, I'm sure they could retrofit her without all the unbearably creepy spy equipment and the AI that never shuts up, and then it's only a matter of stealing her again. Which, I might point out, we are really good at.”

She shakes her head. “We only have to put up with it for a little longer.”

“Well, on the plus side, if we die on this mission, all the embarrassing dirt the Illusive Man has on us will die with us, right? A silver lining to every cloud. And no one ever has to know you still have it bad for Kaidan or my extranet history. Everyone wins.”

“Besides the part where we're dead. Yeah. Everyone wins.”

 


	27. Chapter 27

2185 – Haestrom

 

"So, not afraid to work for the big bads in Cerberus?" asks Shepard as she swings a few of Tali's bags onto her shoulder. The quarian shuttle rises into the air and makes a hasty escape for the horizon, leaving the two of them in the shadows, trekking towards the Normandy's shuttle where Garrus and Miranda are waiting.

"I'm working for you," replies Tali, her bright eyes wide behind her visor. "If you're here, how bad can they be?"

"That remains to be seen," says Shepard. "Just a heads up, don't say anything confidential once we're on the ship. Just in case."

Tali shakes her head. "Only you, Shepard, can find your way into these situations. Isn't there a way to follow through with your mission without Cerberus help?"

"Not unless you have a spare top-of-the-line frigate complete with crew and a couple million credits hidden somewhere," replies Shepard.

"Afraid I'm all out," says Tali. Though only her eyes are visible enough to belay her expression, Shepard can tell she's being studied. "You do trust them, though?"

"I have to. Not really any other choice. Somehow the Alliance doesn't quite buy my story."

"The one where you were dead for two years?" Tali chuckles. "You should have come up with a lie. Your life is starting to become...somewhat unbelievable."

Shrugging the bag higher on her shoulder, Shepard smiles as well. "Tell me about it. I'm glad you're here, Tali."

"I'm only sorry I wasn't able to join you earlier. After what you've been through, a friendly face probably means a lot. Figuratively speaking."

"More than you know," she agrees. “Silly question, maybe, but what convinced you that I'm the real deal and not some kind of clone or robot trying to kidnap you?”

Tali considers. “Well, I'd know if you were a robot, at least. I don't really have reason to doubt you- after all, any time I'm in trouble, you seem to show up.”

Shepard laughs. “It's a little different than the first time,” she points out. “That time was an accident.”

“And you remember it. So, probably not a clone then.”

They climb into the shuttle together. While Garrus and Tali greet each other and Miranda introduces herself, Shepard settles back in her seat and wonders why Tali's logic isn't enough to apply to Kaidan as well.

She has memories of him, memories no one else does. _Do you remember the night before Ilos?_ he'd asked in his message. She does- could recite it to him as plain as if it happened yesterday. Could write pages on what it had meant to her. On what it still means to her.

But somehow she doesn't think that's enough to convince him. While Tali and Garrus had been her friends, Kaidan had been more. She had shared her stories with him, the deep dark memories of Akuze and Mindoir, and perhaps it's her fault for telling him, not realizing that he'd remember the awful details, the hatred that burned through her. In a way she can't blame him; when she thinks about what she's doing with Cerberus she hardly trusts herself, either.

It doesn't make her feel any better, but it makes some sense.

The shuttle lifts off, staying low to ground and under cover as long as possible, moving in the direction of the encroaching night. Shepard remains quiet, consumed with her thoughts, as they leave Haestrom. There's one other person who might listen, she thinks.

 

-

 

From the moment she hears that Liara is on Illium, something inside Shepard knows this is her last chance to reclaim some semblance of normality. Everything is so different that she can't stand it, and if Liara of all people can't help her, she's not sure what she's going to do.

Liara greets her coolly. She's smiling, but it's the clinical, professional smile of a businessperson, not a friend, and Shepard's already fragile heart cracks a little more.

"You've changed," she says to Liara, looking around the little office. It's an odd fit for the asari who once loved to be out in the field, working in the dirt, putting her education to practical use. Illium has no use for people like that, just the sharp and heartless politically minded, fitting them into pre-designed slots instead of embracing their strengths.

"You died," points out Liara. "A lot changed after that."

"I still didn't expect to find you here with a bone to pick with the Shadow Broker."

Liara's eyes darken, but her voice betrays nothing.

"Didn't Cerberus tell you how they retrieved your body?" she asks.

"How they...I don't know. No. I assumed they just snatched me out of orbit." It's an odd question. Shepard hasn't really considered the hows or whys, just that Cerberus put forward the funds where the Alliance was happy to let her body rest.

But Liara stands up from her chair and paces in front of her window. Outside, the skyline of Illium is twinkling with innumerable lights in the darkness. A lovely view in an otherwise clinical office.

"I gave it to them," she says.

"You gave Cerberus my body?" repeats Shepard. "How did you get it? And why? You know what Cerberus did, don't you? You remember Akuze, and Edolus, and everything we went through two years ago-"

"Of course I do," replies Liara, still staring out the window. "It's not like I went in search of them specifically to spite you. They said they could bring you back. Rebuild you. The Shadow Broker had your body, would have given you to the Collectors. I...Shepard, they said they could bring you back. They _did_ bring you back."

Her voice wavers halfway through, but strengthens by the end, like she's reassuring herself, and she turns back to face Shepard. Her expression is pleading. A wave of sickness takes root in Shepard's stomach.

"Liara. Cerberus is monstrous. You know that."

A long, slow sigh. "I know. But you're alive."

Shepard gives a harsh laugh. "Yeah, alive and a slave to a horrible organization because I can't in good conscience turn my back on the mission to stop the Collectors. What were you thinking?"

Liara's eyes glisten. "I was thinking that you deserved a second chance. I was thinking...that I couldn't let you go. Not yet. Not when you meant so much to me. And I knew- I knew that Cerberus would use you, and I still did it because I couldn't bear for you to be dead. Hate me for that if you want to."

Shepard stands, walks in a circle around her office, hands fisted at her sides.

"I'm not sorry," says Liara. "I would do it again in a heartbeat."

"I know."

"Surely you wouldn't rather be dead?"

Ah, but that is the question, isn't it? There's no place for her anymore, Shepard knows. In this year, 2185, she is not meant to exist, and no one is willing to welcome her into it. Everyone has moved on, everyone has long forgotten her, long stopped needing her. Her sole mission, stopping the Collectors, is one that she'll complete without the galaxy's knowledge, saving them from a threat they have no comprehension of, and then...

And then...

"Shepard!" It's a sharp admonishment, as though Liara knows what she's thinking.

"I don't...I don't know, okay? This is a shitty life I'm living right now! Two years have passed and nothing's right anymore, nothing's the same, and I just...I can't handle it. Everyone looks at me like I'm raving, like I'm a terrorist, and maybe I am now, I don't even know. It was unfair to bring me back into this. It was unfair to expect me to just fall back into a life that doesn't exist anymore, a role that I can't fill. I'm not Commander Shepard anymore, or the first human Spectre, or anything, I'm just some dipshit named Shepard who's constantly fucking up, who nobody trusts because I had the audacity to sacrifice myself for my crew! Maybe I was better off dead, Liara, maybe I was!"

Her chest is heaving, her face burning, angry tears prickling in her eyes. The line of Liara's mouth wavers.

"I don't believe that," she says. "And I don't think you do, either. You have a crew that trusts you. Garrus is with you, I've seen him. He trusts you. And Tali. And I trust you, Shepard. I know you're doing the right thing, and I'm certain that once you've finished with the Collectors, the rest of the galaxy will as well."

"The Council doesn't," snaps Shepard. "Kaidan doesn't. You know I got a message from Toombs, letting me know that he'd kill me as soon as look at me? And I don't blame him a bit. I'd do the same in his situation."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't fool myself into thinking it would be easy for you to come back. I didn't know what Cerberus would want from you. I didn't ask. I didn't want to know. Just having you alive..."

Blinking back the moisture threatening in her eyes, Shepard sighs. "I know. I don't...I don't blame you. And I don't mean to be upset with you. Everything just...sucks right now. Everything hinges on this mission going through, and the chances that I'll live through it are slim to none. I feel like I should be taking advantage of this second chance, get everything in order, do everything I didn't get to do before the Normandy went down, but no one will let me do any of that."

“You'll make it through,” says Liara gently. “You will, because you're you. And once you've finished, once you've left Cerberus...”

“And stopped the Reapers,” Shepard reminds her.

“...and stopped the Reapers, no one will have reason to doubt you again. And you will do those things.”

She laughs bitterly. “Brought back from death to keep fighting a war that no one else wants to fight. I'm the luckiest girl in the galaxy.”

“If you hadn't died, you'd be fighting it anyway,” points out Liara. “The self-pity isn't like you. What I remember is you vowing to stop the Reapers. There were never any corollaries to that, just that you would fight them, regardless of your crew or your ship or your alliances. Has that changed?”

She's right, and Shepard knows she's right. Whether under the Alliance flag or Cerberus, she's in this fight to the end.

But that doesn't mean she has to like her situation.

“Can't you come with me?” she asks, aware of how childish she sounds.

She doesn't expect Liara to say yes, but the careful decline hurts nonetheless.

“This isn't something I can walk away from,” she tells Shepard. “As much as I'd like it to be the way it was, time passes, and two years is a long time.”

“Yeah,” says Shepard. “It is.”

 


	28. Chapter 28

2186 – Illium

 

"You're being foolish," says Miranda. She's standing at the airlock, arms folded, disapproval clear on her face. "And what's more, you're wasting time."

Shepard shrugs. "We've been traveling all over the goddamn galaxy for the past few months, it's not going to make a difference if I take a night off."

"It will if you end up hurt or killed because you decided to make a stupid mistake. This isn't a game- people will die while you're fooling around."

"Go cry to the Illusive Man, then," she replies, and Miranda fumes.

“You know what, Shepard? I have to know- just what is your problem?”

“My problem? Gee Miranda, I don't know. Could it be that I was dead for two years, and everyone I know thinks I'm a liar or worse? Could it be that twenty members of my crew fucking died when my ship exploded? Could it be that I lost everything about myself- my body, my rank, hell, the only photograph of my parents that was still in existence, when I suffocated in space? Or maybe it's that I'm forced to work with terrorists because no one else wants to believe that there's a threat out there, and if I walk away I doom the human race. Yes, I have a problem. I have a thousand and one problems and you ought to thank whatever deity you believe in that you aren't where I am now.”

For once, Miranda doesn't have a reply, her perfect face frozen. Shepard sweeps past her, activates the airlock, and steps onto Illium.

Evening is setting. She stows her sidearm in her belt and walks through the crowded platforms, slipping unnoticed through the busy asari to the bar on the upper level. Eternity. She had walked by before but hadn't stopped, the possibility of getting drunk enough to accidentally sign a contract was enough of a deterrent. Now, though, it doesn't matter as much.

"Shepard," Shiala greets her. Her wide eyes are appraising, skimming over Shepard's casual uniform and, apparently, approving. "It's good to see you again."

She slides into the chair opposite the asari, pleased to see her message well-received. "Same to you."

It's always been easy for Shepard to read people. She's never been any good at flirting, but she knows how to spot the flicker of interest in another's eyes, knows which buttons to press to reach the result she desires. It was the same way after Akuze, and it's the same way now, as she searches the asari's face and sees the desire there.

Old habits die hard.

“I admit, I was surprised that you wanted to meet me here,” she says. “Somehow I assumed the great Commander Shepard had better things to do than chitchat in bars. Surely you have more pressing business to attend to?”

“I've earned a break,” replies Shepard. “And the ship doesn't leave without me.”

They both know they aren't there for small talk, however, and it's not long before hands touch across the table, before Shiala leans in to whisper in her ear, before they're leaving the bar hand in hand, touching at the shoulders and hips.

It's kind of nice, the disconnect from her rational soldier side, the feeling of being a normal woman who does normal things and doesn't have to analyze every possible outcome. It's nice to feel Shiala's soft hands against her cheek, the touch of an unfamiliar mouth against hers. It's nice to feel wanted.

Even if she misses Kaidan so badly it hurts.

Shiala eases her pain with gentle touches and whispered words. They stop in the hotel hallway, outside her door, leaning against the wall. Shepard opens her mouth to the asari's, touches her slim shoulders and arms and the soft curve of her waist.

She thinks about the night before Ilos: the hesitant way Kaidan had kissed her, his touches growing bolder, the innocent way he'd looked up at her from under his dark brows with those mesmerizing eyes, the vulnerability on his face as he'd confessed his desire to her. Two years ago. She sighs into Shiala's mouth, wishing it was his.

Perhaps she's too transparent. Shiala breaks away, studying Shepard's face with a slightly furrowed brow. Shepard leans forward to kiss the expression away.

Once they're inside, once they're standing against the bed and Shiala's eyes go dark, Shepard lets go of her thoughts and surrenders to the mind-meld she remembers so well.

“I was the first to join with you, do you remember?” Shiala's voice seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The very surface of Shepard's skin seems to vibrate from her head to her toes.

“I remember.” She does. Remembers Feros, remembers the thorian, remembers the cipher. Remembers how the gas grenades had given Kaidan a migraine for almost two days, how worried she was when he hadn't emerged from the medbay for dinner. Remembers the pain and exhaustion on his face when she'd brought him a tray, the concern when he couldn't keep any of it down, how she'd stayed up half the night awaiting updates from Chakwas to make sure he was okay. Remembers the embarrassed smile he gave her when she inquired about his condition the next day and his obvious pleasure that she had asked.

The room snaps back into focus. Shiala's eyes are green again, and unreadable.

“You're conflicted,” she says. “I like you very much, Shepard, but I'm not sure this encounter is wise when you are not wholly invested. Your feelings for your former crewmate are foremost in your mind. You should settle these feelings.” She steps back, one hand on Shepard's arm. “If you choose to return, you know where I'll be.”

She does, at least, sound genuinely sorry, and her hand lingers on Shepard's arm far longer than her dismissal might suggest is necessary. For her part, disappointment settles over Shepard as she bids the asari goodbye and starts the trek back across Nos Astra, wrangling with the frustration of her own mind's refusal to let things go.

 

-

 

Luckily, Shepard has plenty to keep her distracted.

If it's not enough to be planning a run through the Omega-4 Relay, she has a multitude of requests from her crew. Though she's not especially close with them, not like she used to be, not like she was with her first crew, she's more than happy to support them. It's stupid, it's dangerous, but it keeps her busy, and the busier she is, the less time she has to dwell on the hard feelings still lingering in the back of her mind. Forget the Alliance, forget _Alenko_ , forget that she's tied to an organization with a reputation darker than a black hole. Forget that she died and she's half synthetic and lost two years of her life. Forget the nightmares that jolt her awake nightly, when her eyes snap open and she sees the expanse of space above her and forgets how to breathe for a moment.

Instead she skips across the galaxy to recruit an assassin and a justicar. She fights asari commandos and synthetics, plants a bomb on a planet and seduces an ardat-yakshi. She treads a careful path along the shell of a ship clinging to the side of a cliff, steals data for Cerberus but keeps it to herself, attacks a ship overrun with geth and shouts the quarian board into submission.

"Far be it from me to complain, Shepard," says Garrus grimly, looking around the crumbling stadium, "but I'm not sure this is the best way to go about expressing your feelings."

"What, you don't get into death matches on Tuchanka when you're feeling low?" She hefts her sniper rifle and grins. "This is exactly what I need."

She's known Garrus long enough to learn to read doubt on a turian face.

"I just think that coping with your death and the fact that you have to work with Cerberus would be better accomplished doing something that would be slightly less likely to kill you horribly."

"Says the guy who became a merc killer on Omega after I died," she replies.

"Right. A fair point," he says dryly. "Well, that makes two of us who are enjoying themselves."

Grunt swings a varren halfway across the stadium as if to illustrate his point.

Garrus may be onto something, admits Shepard to herself as she dodges a varren bite and aims a shot at another. It's far from the healthiest way to escape her feelings, the negativity that follows her like a shadow since she woke up and doubled in intensity since Horizon, but hell, what does it matter? If she dies going through the Omega-4 Relay, at least she'll have a little fun beforehand.

A stream of fire narrowly misses her, issuing from a fast-moving klixen, one of the few to get past her krogan bodyguard's punishing greeting. It's almost like N-school again: the deadly creatures, the malignant atmosphere, the rush of adrenaline that reminds her she's still alive. She'll make a beautiful mess on the way to her death.

When the klixen are vanquished and they stand awaiting their next challenge, an all-too-familiar rumble shakes the ground underfoot, and Garrus shoots her a look of alarm. It's not without merit- she almost does panic, almost flashes back to the places she doesn't want to remember, but she's ready this time, once and for all.

"Third time's the charm," she says, and though she doubts Garrus is familiar with the saying, he gives a nod as she stows her rifle and pulls out her brand new toy.

On foot is different than in the Mako, true, and it's more like Akuze than she wants to admit, but she's less afraid now than she's ever been. She sends Garrus in one direction and Grunt in another, each attempting to get the monster's attention, while she adjusts the weapon on her shoulder and sets the charge.

She hadn't quite listened to Jacob's full explanation about the Cain before she'd taken it from the armory. Point and shoot- she knows the drill, it's the same with any gun. But when the thresher maw's slimy face bursts through the Tuchanka soil and she pulls the trigger, the burst of fire that issues from the weapon's muzzle, the heat of the explosion and the sound, the glorious ear-splitting sound, all combine into what is possibly the most satisfying moment of her life.

"Fucking hell," she breathes, dusting the visor of her helmet with one gloved hand. "I think I need a cigarette."

The thresher maw lies in smoking ruins. She carefully stows the Cain and watches Grunt roar in victory, fists in the air, and the rabble of the krogan audience is audible even through her helmet.

"I take it that's not a usual occurrence," says Garrus.

"Well, look who you're dealing with," replies Shepard. "I've never believed in doing things half-assed."

"You're a legend everywhere you go, aren't you, Shepard?" chortles Wrex when they return to the heart of the colony, slightly worse for the wear but alive. "You realize no one's killed a thresher maw since I did it?"

She grins. "Seems to me that I'm at four maws and counting, now."

"You should lead with that whenever you play politics. None of your faux human politeness. 'I'm here to negotiate, and I've killed four thresher maws, so don't jerk me around.'"

"I'll take it into consideration," she replies. "While I'm here, I need to talk to you about a salarian..."

 


	29. Chapter 29

2185 – Aratoht

 

 

But it doesn't end there.

There's something freeing about slipping silently though the base on Aratoht, alone and armed, with no one knowing where she is or what she's doing save Hackett. And that's if he does know- she'd promised her help, sure, but for all he knows she could have been waylaid or even stopped by the Illusive Man for taking his ship anywhere but where he asked to. It's the most freedom she's had in a while.

And she's never been shy about killing batarians.

Only when necessary, only to keep her cover from being blown, only to save Kenson and only when there's no other choice. She tells herself that. She might even partially believe it, but what she is sure of is that she feels no remorse for seeing those hideous alien bodies hit the ground, remembers their hands in her hair dragging her across the dirt on Mindoir, remembers them laughing as they'd killed and beaten everyone she'd ever known.

She's aware that she's slipping back into her old habits, her old ways of thinking.

She's aware that she doesn't care.

She takes a similar stance to killing indoctrinated scientists, though it's regrettable, but it's hard to feel too much remorse for people who are actively trying to kill her. _Story of my life_ , thinks Shepard to herself, still groggy from spending so much time sedated. _This is more like N training_ , she thinks. The subterfuge, the throwing herself into danger on a moment's notice, the split-second thought process deciding her life or death. It's a rush of adrenaline she loves, one that consumes her body and mind and makes it impossible to think of anything else.

An escape.

The culmination of her actions over the past few weeks have come to a head, her flippant attitude in the face of danger, the mindless way she's been operating, the thin veneer of happiness and enjoyment she's been wearing over her misery and pain. So what if she dies here? Her team is stable, good enough to make it through the relay on their own if they have to, and though the angry, vengeful part of her wants to see this through, wants to watch the Collectors burn, she wouldn't be too upset to die here.

But maybe it's because it isn't all her, a body and brain full of tech and who knows what else, some evil inside her that Cerberus put there. That's what she is, right? Maybe Alenko was right about her, maybe she's changed and she doesn't notice, maybe they've been using her all along and she's broken enough to go along with it.

She ducks into an alcove and rips open a packet of medi-gel with her teeth, rubbing it on the exposed parts of her face and neck where she'd narrowly missed the stream of a flamethrower. The sound of shouting has died down by now, only a few voices remain to call out every now and then. The medi-gel stings for a moment- makes her wince, and then she's out and running again, into the lab where she realizes she's made a terrible mistake.

304,942 casualties. Her hand hovers over the terminal, fingers shaking. The convenient little world she's built around herself shatters, the one where she's righting all of the galaxy's wrongs and making all of the choices everyone else is too cowardly to make, where she's spending her last days leading up to the suicide mission doing what she's always wanted to do.

This isn't what she wants to do. This isn't a decision that's hers to make.

304,942 people to buy time for the rest of the galaxy.

She swallows. She wishes she had someone here, someone to discuss it with- hell, she wishes Kaidan was here. For all the times she was annoyed by him speaking his mind, for all the times she snapped at him when he didn't deserve it, she wishes he could be here to give her advice now, for all the good it would do.

Either way, there's no right decision, but she knows she can't weigh 304,942 lives against the entire galaxy, even if it will haunt her for the rest of her days.

She authorizes the crash.

 

-

 

"You did what you had to do," says Garrus, ever pragmatic.

"I murdered an entire solar system," she replies. The floor in the main battery is actually extremely uncomfortable, she reflects, feeling every hole in the grate under her back and knowing she deserves it. Garrus sits on a stack of crates a few feet away from where she's lying on the floor.

"Every one of us would have done the same thing," he replies. "You know that."

"But I'm the one who actually did it." She sighs. "I've been an idiot."

"That's not really news, Shepard."

"Ass. I mean...everything I've been doing since I got back, all the stupid shit I've done..."

"Since Horizon, you mean?"

"Before then, even. Horizon was just a...breaking point. I can't run away anymore. It sucks, but I just have to suck it up and keep going, even if it just feels like I've eaten broken glass."

"If you require medical services, Shepard, I can ask the doctor to escort you to the medbay," cuts in EDI. Shepard scrubs at her face with the palms of her hands.

"EDI, I don't think Shepard is in need of your help right now."

_Or ever_ , thinks Shepard. "Go monitor someone else."

"I can't claim to understand what you're feeling," says Garrus. "I've had my share of problems, but you tend to win any 'whose life is worse' contest. All I can say is I'm with you, for whatever you need."

"I appreciate it," replies Shepard. "I might need to take you up on that. If we survive the relay, I'm looking at a good long time in military prison."

"Well," says Garrus thoughtfully, "then just let me know if you want me to break you out or if you want to steal this ship and go rogue again."

She gives a little laugh. It's something.

"I guess it can't get any worse from here on out, right?"

“Knowing you? I wouldn't make any bets,” he replies.

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

2185 – Normandy SR-2

 

Occasionally Shepard forgets that her ship is different now, that its hull was never scorched by the heat of Solcrum's blue giant of a sun or buffeted by Noveria's icy winds, that Liara and Wrex never walked its clinical hallways, that the lounge never heard Ash and Kaidan's friendly banter. When she stops outside Miranda's door she has to take a moment to remember that this isn't her cabin, that the place where she lived during her famed year as the first human Spectre, the place where she laughed and cried and fell in love no longer exists as anything more than a charred shell on some inconsequential planet. It's fitting, she supposes. That Shepard is as dead as her ship.

As usual, Miranda is behind her desk, working diligently, but doesn't quite hide the curiosity on her face when Shepard walks in. This long into their journey, she no longer quite fits the enemy template that Shepard tries to force on her, a woman just as flawed as she is but in different ways.

"This is a surprise," says Miranda.

"Can we talk?" asks Shepard. "Privately, I mean."

Miranda only hesitates a fraction of a second before she says, "of course" and types a series of commands into her terminal. It goes blank, and, Shepard suspects, so do a dozen surveillance devices hidden strategically throughout the room.

"I appreciate this."

"I've only ever been here to help, Shepard," she says. "What do you need?"

"I was hoping you could answer some questions for me. Off the record, just between the two of us." _Without the Illusive Man involved_ , she doesn't say, but Miranda is clever enough to read her intentions.

"About the Lazarus Project, you mean?"

Surprised, she nods. "I just..."

"I admit, I thought you'd come to me sooner."

"I thought about it. But I'm sorry, I still don't trust Cerberus."

Miranda gazes levelly at her. "I am Cerberus. Nothing will change that."

"But you're also...someone I trust. We're never going to be best friends, nothing's going to change that, but I think we've established enough of a rapport that we can talk like normal people, without either of us having to worry about Cerberus weighing in on it. If you disagree, tell me now. I don't want to waste either of our time."

With an elegant hand, Miranda waves at a nearby chair. "Why don't you sit down?"

She does. Miranda sits back, looking thoughtful.

"You deserve to know everything about what happened to you. That at least we can agree on. What did you want to know, specifically?"

"Am I human?" The words fall out before she can stop them, the desperate question that's been plaguing her for weeks, and it's obvious Miranda isn't expecting them. Her perfect lips part in surprise.

"Of course you're human. Why would you doubt that?"

"But I'm not. I've got all these cybernetics, I don't even know the extent of it. How much of me is real and how much is machine?"

"All of you is real. Cybernetics don't make you any less human. But I understand your worries. You weren't ready to wake up, you know. The cybernetics we used to supplement your body's systems were meant to be just that- supplemental. Another month on the table and you'd be fully organic. As it is, you'll outgrow the cybernetics eventually, and once your body doesn't need them any longer, they'll break down and be absorbed or disposed of by your body. I had plans for you, to explain everything when you woke up, but then there wasn't time, and we were all thrown into this fight. Most of your major systems have some synthetics keeping them running right now, but without the controlled environment of the lab, there's no telling how long you'll be dependent on them."

Some of this makes Shepard feel slightly better, but most of it horrifies her. "So there's machinery keeping my heart beating right now?"

"Yes. For now. And once the muscle is strong enough to continue on its own, it will. Make no mistake, if I shot you in the stomach right now you'd die as easily as you would have two years ago. There wasn't time to grow everything from scratch, and you needed a lot of work done."

"But how do I know that everything I remember actually happened if half of my brain isn't my own?"

"There's nothing wrong with your brain," says Miranda gently. "That was where we began- nothing synthetic there would do. The Illusive Man wouldn't have allowed us to tamper with it anyway- he wanted you back just as you are. We could have implanted false memories I suppose, but to what end? The fact that you still have such strong feelings against Cerberus should evidence that we did not."

“So it was the real me who killed all of those batarians.”

Miranda opens her mouth, closes it, and nods.

“It was your decision, yes.”

When Shepard doesn't reply, she continues. “The tech doesn't change who you are. It doesn't affect your mind, your decisions. Think building blocks, making a solid structure, a frame to hold the rest. That's all.”

That helps more, but Shepard is still uneasy about the prospect of harboring so much tech under her skin. She palpates her left wrist, her forearm, trying to remember if it feels differently than it used to, if the tech is distinguishable from her own flesh and bone, but reaches no conclusion.

"I understand your concern," Miranda tells her, and there's something reassuring in her voice that Shepard has never heard before. "We treated your body with respect, tried to keep everything as natural as it had ever been, and only used tech when we had to, but you were badly damaged. You were dead, Shepard. A frozen corpse. There was a lot of work that needed to be done when we found you. The fact that you're standing here right now is nothing short of a miracle."

"Okay," says Shepard. "That...helps, I think. I just...everything is so different. Everyone treats me so differently."

Something glints in Miranda's eyes. "Is this about what Staff Commander Alenko said back on Horizon?"

Like a knife in the chest, cutting deep to the problem is Miranda's specialty. "Not entirely, no."

"But partially. Don't take it to heart. You've got more important things to do than worry about your reputation with the Alliance. The success or failure of this mission will directly impact not only humanity, but the entire galaxy." That fanatical look is back in her eyes, and her voice grows stronger. "I'm sure it was difficult for you, but unless it will distract your focus from the mission..."

"It won't," Shepard assures her. "I have...one more question."

"Since we're having such a pleasant heart to heart, go on."

"The Illusive Man. After we take out the Collector base...assuming we survive...what will he want with me?"

"What a grim assessment. I'm certain that he has other concerns he might ask you to look into, if you'd be interested. Why do you ask?"

"Honestly, it seems like a bad investment to pour billions of credits into a one-time project," says Shepard bluntly. “Especially one that has opinions of its own.”

"Yes, I see why that might worry you. But what is the future of humanity worth? A few billion credits gets him a hero. If you stop the Collectors, I'd say it's a fair price to pay, don't you? While I don't doubt that he'd be pleased to keep you in his employ, I hardly think he'd force you to."

But the end of her sentence creeps into a doubtful tone, and Shepard shares the feeling. In her mind's eye she can see the next assignment, rolling slowly off his tongue with those honeyed words, convincing her to take it on, maybe not the starkly imminent threat of the Collectors, keeping humanity safe, but something a step below, easing her into the Cerberus organization by giving her no reason to say no.

“After what happened on Aratoht though, maybe you'd like to stay.”

And ah, what a choice. Imprisoned on Earth versus imprisoned in space, forever shackled to a man she doesn't trust. Again, Shepard doesn't reply. Again, Miranda seems to understand. She sits back in her chair and a host of expressions flicker over her face.

“As long as you're here,” says Miranda, and there's a hesitation in her voice that's unfamiliar. “I have a...favor to ask you.”

 


	31. Chapter 31

2186 – Citadel

 

 

Artificial daylight is fading into equally artificial night by the time the second guard departs, leaving the first on his own. Kaidan raises a hand to tell his team to hold position. They remain still for what seems like ages, waiting for the footsteps to fade away into the depths of the Citadel, waiting longer to be sure he's really gone, and then the biotic energy crawls over Kaidan's skin like electricity. A minor lift, raising a crate just slightly, just enough to get the guard's attention.

"Go," he mouths.

Watson throws a stasis field, catching the guard unaware and rendering him immobile. Kaidan is glad for it; he hates killing guards. The statis field will last twelve minutes, just long enough for them to get in and out. He hopes.

With his omni-tool, Kaidan overrides the lock and they slip inside.

There's a multitude of smuggling rings on the Citadel. C-Sec is perpetually overwhelmed with cases, and when there's an Alliance component, they're more than happy to turn one over for someone else to deal with.

It's the kind of thing Shepard would have taken care of, once upon a time.

The warehouse isn't occupied, at least according to their scanners. They pause in the shadow of a stack of crates, listening for voices. Faintly, two people are talking in another room, voices at normal volume though he cannot tell what's being said.

He signals Bauman forward. She is the smallest, but the most volatile, more infiltrator than sentinel. The darkness folds around her like a blanket as she moves into the shadows. His omni-tool pings seconds later. A shipping manifest. He scans the list: illegal weapons and mods have skyrocketed since the Citadel implemented its new security measures, so it's no surprise to see them here. There's no information on either buyers or sellers, however, so he saves a local copy and they move forward, Bauman appearing at his side again, Watson trailing behind.

As they reach the door to the hallway, two heat signatures materialize on his radar, as he expected. He would rather not instigate a fight if it can be helped, but the office is beyond. Again, he sends Bauman forward, letting her move like a shadow down the hallway. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he sends the tiniest wave of biotic energy at the open door of the room where the two men are talking, and it slowly falls closed with a soft click. The voices pause. For a moment, everything is still and silent.

He and Watson are still around the corner, concealed, when the footsteps approach the door and open it again. He holds his breath. In his mind's eye he can picture it, the merc poking his head into the hallway, looking for irregularities and finding nothing. Then the footsteps recede and the door closes again. A flicker, and Bauman's tactical cloak dissipates like a spark going out.

They creep past the break room and into a mazelike hallway. On his omni-tool, a map unfolds itself. No movement, no heat signatures, just a network of walls and doors, one holding the information they need.

He sends Bauman left and Watson right, gives them two minutes to explore and report back. They're cutting it close, but if his source is correct and the information is where it should be, they'll have a minute to get back and get out before the stasis wears off. Plenty of time. In theory.

There is a burst of voices from the far end of the warehouse, and his stomach clenches. Pinpoints of red blink onto his radar. They had to have discovered the guard, judging by where they entered, and they aren't stupid- they know someone is in the building.

Kaidan hesitates, unsure which way to turn, which of his teammates to go after. Something familiar and unsettling roils in his stomach at the decision. Then Bauman is at his side and silently they take the righthand hallway together.

"I can slow them down," says Bauman softly. "It'll give us away, but it'll buy us some time."

"Do it."

Her fingers skate over her omni-tool. Behind them, a door closes and the lock clicks into place. Knowing Bauman, the encryption will take them several minutes to crack. He hopes so, anyway. There are a dozen heat signatures on his radar now, and he knows the three of them are no match for that number.

They find Watson at the end of the hall, furiously decrypting a terminal, fingers flying over the interface. It's a dingy desk, surrounded by boxes, some half-open and spilling their contents. Kaidan recognizes a highly illegal shredder mod, a crate of chem rounds, a plastic wrapped bag of red sand.

"I've almost gotten in," says Watson.

"You've got less than a minute," replies Kaidan. "Bauman, find us a way out."

He leans over the terminal with Watson while Bauman brings up a map on her omni-tool. Behind them, the voices are louder, though they don't seem to be getting any closer- stopped at the locked door, most likely. A list of orders and invoices appears on the screen; Watson makes a small, triumphant noise and copies it.

"We got it?" asks Kaidan.

"Everything. Every planet they shipped to in the past year and a half. Weapons, mods, drugs."

"How long will it take you to copy it?" There are shouts. His radar is blinking rapidly. Bauman's eyes are darting over the map projecting from her omni-tool, her mouth forming silent words.

"It's close," says Watson.

"How long?"

The unmistakable sound of a door opening reaches them. Bauman's head snaps up and her tactical cloak springs to life, extended to cover the three of them. They remain motionless under the tech blanket, trying to conserve the rapidly draining energy provided by her omni-tool.

Footsteps pound down the hallway. Watson motions to him: it's done.

"How do we get out?" he mouths to Bauman.

She projects her map on the floor, points their path out. When he overlays his radar, the obvious problem presents itself.

"Shit."

It's not the most impossible situation, he has to admit. It's not Virmire, setting up defenses against an army of geth. But it's still definitely not what he was hoping for.

"We're going to have to fight our way out," he tells them in barely more than a whisper. "Keep in cover, use your barriers. Don't overextend. Bauman, use your cloak and take point."

She nods. Watson follows. Kaidan covers them from behind as they dive into the fray.

He casts a barrier, the energy rolling out like waves to keep him protected. The shouts and footsteps are unmistakable now, close behind, closing in from the sides. The gunfire startles him when it comes.

His team is good. The three of them have only worked together for a number of weeks, but they're quick learners. Watson especially came from almost nothing, barely in control of his biotics, to a quick and effective soldier. Between lifts and throws interspersed with some semiauto fire, they narrowly escape the labyrinth of hallways and end up backtracking towards the warehouse.

Unfortunately, backup has arrived.

There are two dozen heat signatures on his radar now. Bauman and Watson stop short, their barriers flickering but holding steady as Kaidan motions them back. No doubt their power reserves are running low, and though Bauman might be able to sneak out under cover of her tactical cloak, she won't leave them behind.

They duck into the little office that was occupied earlier. It's a mess of packing material and other trash, the odd broken weapon here and there. In the corner a small television blares. At first his eyes skate over it in his search of the room, but they flick back. A solemn blonde is gravely reporting the destruction of a mass relay, and, by extension, the surrounding solar system. The name Aratoht drifts through his mind, waiting for him to find the connection. Aratoht. Batarians.

_Shepard._

His gut tightens. Guilt settles over him for jumping to her name at the thought of batarians being killed, but in the entire galaxy, if one person was capable of destroying a relay, it's unmistakably Shepard.

Thinking about her steels his resolve, reminds him that an unorthodox manner of escape might be their ticket out. He sweeps the room again, and- yes, a broken bag of red sand, spilling across the counter in a fine scarlet dust.

It's not that he relishes having to use it. He's more familiar with it than he should be, thanks to those bitter years after BAaT, years he's long left past, and he knows the effects and the downsides. But when he thinks about Shepard, about what she would do, about what she would say, and remembers that her rule-breaking saved the day on more than one occasion, the fact that she came up in his mind at the same time registers as more than a mere coincidence for him.

He hopes to God he's wrong. Though it's bad enough to live in a world without Shepard, to live in one where she's not only a traitor but a mass murderer might push him over that thin line he was just treading the edge of.

And it is enough to convince him to take the hit.

They clear the warehouse in three minutes flat. The ensuing migraine takes half a week to fade. By the time it does, Shepard's name is all over the news again, just as he'd feared.

 


	32. Chapter 32

2186 – Illium

 

Unconventional though it might be, Shepard finds herself slipping into a routine with her new ship and crew. It's less formal than the original Normandy, it has to be, with all the personalities she has collected to make up her team, but the respect is there, if perhaps not the friendship she remembers. It's a camaraderie of sorts, a collection of determined people with something to prove, bound for death or glory or both, united under her command.

Respect is all she asks. Anything more is playing with fire, she's learned.

Which is why it's so unexpected when Miranda shows up at her door while they're still docked on Illium.

"Commander," she says, uncharacteristically tentative, "I have something for you."

She's still not sure what to make of Miranda, the genetically perfect biotic who still sings Cerberus's praises, but at least she knows she's human now, capable of caring about another person, fiercely devoted to the little sister she's barely known. Part of Shepard is bothered, wishing Miranda had remained a two-dimensional villain in her mind, a Cerberus apologist with no redeeming qualities, but another part is glad to see that humanity shine through, a vulnerability at odds with her chilly demeanor.

The fish tank burbles quietly as Miranda stands in the doorway uncertainly and Shepard marvels at the difference in her body language. It's not a loss of confidence, more of an extension of an olive branch that may or may not be a trick.

With a few clicks of her omni-tool, glowing orange in the dim cabin light, she transfers a file. Shepard's own wrist shimmers and chirps as her omni-tool accesses it.

"It's not much," continues Miranda, "but consider it a thanks for what you did for me and my sister."

Having said her piece, she turns to leave, Shepard gazing curiously after her. When she taps the interface, dozens of photographs pop up, and her breath catches in her chest. One by one she scrolls through them, some portraits taken professionally, some candid shots, a young couple and their baby daughter, the girl growing into a teenager as the photos progress. It must have taken Miranda ages to track down all of these; Shepard had only ever gotten the one crumpled photo found before the remains of her home were razed, and she had long lost hope of finding any others.

She remembers the Mindoir sun, the fragrant grass, the smell of the rain on the dirt. She remembers her father's strong arms, her mother's perfume, the warm little house on the edge of the farmland. Friendly faces, familiar faces in a town where no one was a stranger. It seems so long ago that everything was so soft and innocent. It seems impossible that it doesn't exist anymore in anywhere but her memories, but it's a miracle in itself that the memories remain even after the mind that holds them has been rebuilt.

At the end of the files there's a last picture, far more recent than the others, though Shepard remembers only scraps of it. It's the waiting room of a bustling hospital, shortly after the Battle of the Citadel. She's cradling a broken arm, blood dried on her face, sound asleep tucked against Kaidan's side. His eyes are mostly closed, a bruise blossoming on his jaw, his arm around her shoulders.

If she closes her eyes she can smell the antiseptic and medi-gel, hear the soft conversation in the background, the hums and beeps of medical equipment, the ache in her bones and the exhaustion that came with it. She can feel his hand stroke her hair, hear his reassuring murmur in her ear. Was it really over two years ago? Part of her can feel the loss of time, the blank stretch of nothingness where everything went on except for her, and another part insists that it's been mere weeks, that if she walked out of the door to her cabin she'd find the crew deck and he'd be standing there waiting for her.

“Miranda!” The name tears itself from her mouth before she realizes she's shouting. “Miranda, wait!”

The woman pauses at the elevator as Shepard bursts onto the landing, images still projecting from her omni-tool.

“You...did this...I don't know how...” She swallows. “Thank you.”

“It wasn't much,” says Miranda. “There's a museum on Mindoir, you know. I suppose you’ve never been. The curator kept all of the photographs they found in the rubble. It was just a matter of asking- are you crying?”

She is. She wasn't sure she could still cry, but the tears roll hot and fast down her cheeks. “It's my family, Miranda. You gave me back my family. That picture was all I had of them, all I had left, and this...”

“You gave me back mine,” replies Miranda simply.

They don't hug- Shepard doesn't do the tearful embraces anymore, not since she lost her crew, but she smiles, and Miranda smiles, and for the first time in a long time she feels like she's where she belongs.

 

-

 

Sleeping would be wise, but Shepard can't help but glance at the time on her omni-tool every few minutes, silently counting down the hours til they reach the Omega-4 Relay. It's deathly quiet on the ship with no crew but her squadmates and Joker. She passes the darkened windows of the medbay and swallows down a lump in her throat, walks through the deserted mess hall and through engineering where Tali has taken on the duties of the kidnapped engineers. Everyone is gearing up for their final stop- the one they might not return from, and too many conflicting feelings are welling up inside Shepard for her to do anything constructive with them.

“You've helped everyone else with their problems,” says Tali, watching her trail her fingers over the control panel nearest to her, where Donnelly worked until just recently. “Isn't there anything you have left to do before we go to fight the Collectors?”

Shepard shakes her head. “I've been dead for two years, remember? All of my excess baggage is long gone.”

“Still, I'm surprised you didn't contact Liara, or Anderson,” replies Tali. “You were close with them.”

A shrug. “I've spoken to both of them. They know what I'm doing.” Though honestly she would have liked more time with them both, but it's too late now. She's committed to her course and it's probably for the best they didn't speak again.

“And Kaidan?” It's a more tentative question, asked in Tali's most delicate tone.

“Alenko made it clear where I stood with him,” replies Shepard neutrally. Which isn't exactly true- she ignored so many of his attempts to contact her because of her own wounded pride. “It's better for both of us that we leave things where they are. Anything else would hurt us both, and I'd prefer not to have any distractions.”

Tali makes an exasperated noise. “Really? You're okay with it? I don't mean to pry, but we had _bets_ on the two of you back on the original Normandy. You coming back to life but barely talking to him...”

“It's obvious where Alenko's loyalties lie. He's Alliance. If we live, and I don't go to military prison immediately after exiting the relay, well, who knows?” But it doesn't convince Tali, and it doesn't convince herself, either. That thread is broken between them, and merely leaving Cerberus's employ won't tie it back together. Alenko will require explanations that she doesn't have, that aren't good enough to convince him. It's still a hollow pang in her chest, but it's the truth, and dwelling on it won't help when she needs to concentrate on their upcoming mission.

Tali bows her head. “Okay. I hope you're right. And I hope he understands, even if we don't come back. He was always kind to me.”

As Shepard continues roaming the ship a little later, she wonders if Tali is right. Alenko knows she's taking on the Collectors, sure, so he has to know that there's a possibility that she won't come back. And Anderson said he took her death hard. It wouldn't be right to put him through that again, not when she knows she's heading for likely death. Even if she's still sore about Horizon.

_What a difference this is_ , she thinks, her mind wandering back to their assault on Ilos and the way they had prepared the night before. She allows herself a few seconds to dwell on the memory before the decision solidifies and she heads to her terminal.

 

_Kaidan,_

_I'm sorry. I don't have time to write out the details, to write everything I'm sorry about, to explain myself and what I've been doing, but if you're reading this then my plan went to shit and you were right. A small comfort, maybe. I don't claim that Cerberus has changed, that they're trustworthy. All I can claim is that I thought I was doing what was right, and working with them was a necessary evil._

_I don't know how to convince you that I haven't changed. All I can do is seize this chance that I didn't get last time to tell you that I love you. I don't know if that means anything to you, if it makes things worse, if it helps, but it's true. I should have told you earlier._

_I'm not coming back this time. I wish things could have been different. Whatever happens I hope that you can find it in yourself if not to forgive me, than at least to remember me as fondly as I remember you, as I remember our night together before Ilos, as I remember our tour together as comrades turned friends turned lovers. And wherever life takes you, I wish you the best._

_Shepard_

 

It's not quite what she wanted to say, but the words don't come to her as easily in her quiet quarters as they did when she was tangled in her sheets, wrapped in his arms, whispering in his ear. A pang of regret overtakes her- she was so angry at the message he sent but didn't consider he might have had the same problems, the same inarticulate emotions that she has, and remembers his indirect way of speaking, his cautious manner. Maybe she wasn't fair to him.

It's too late now. She buries her face in her hands and takes a deep breath.

“EDI,” she says.

“Yes, Commander?” The computer's disembodied voice fills her room.

“If I don't come back from the Omega-4 Relay, can you make sure this message gets sent?”

“I will maintain a connection for as long as I can once we are through and store a local copy for transmission with the nearest comm buoy.”

Shepard nods. “Thank you.”

She sits in silence for a long time, watching the stars flash by through her window. There's nothing left to do- her weapons and armor are in top condition, her crew is prepared. She calls up the pictures on her omni-tool again, studying the faces of her parents, wondering what it might have been like to grow up with them, where she might be now. Would someone else be here in her place, ready to fight the Collectors? Or did it always have to be her?

She flips to the picture in the hospital as she settles into bed. After everything they went through it seems inadequate to leave it here between arguments and extranet messages.

“We will arrive at the Omega-4 Relay in six hours,” says EDI's voice softly. “You may wish to rest.”

Reluctantly, she shuts down the photographs, uses the omni-tool to send a dose of sedative through her medical interface. For the first time in a long time, she sleeps dreamlessly.

 


	33. Chapter 33

2186 – Omega

 

It's bittersweet, stopping throughout the galaxy to see her crew off. With the future so hard to predict, Shepard wonders if she'll see most of them again. It's a big universe, and she won't be seeing much of it from military prison.

"I'm just saying, we don't have to go back," points out Joker as they refuel on Omega, having seen Jack and Mordin off. "Think about it. You and I could be a team. Bounty hunters. I fly the ship, and you...do what you do."

"Tempting," says Shepard. "But it might take more than the two of us to run the Normandy. Plus, you know, Reapers."

"I just hate being grounded," he says. "Somehow I don't think the Alliance is going to be in a hurry to put me in a cockpit again after the whole Cerberus thing."

She chuckles. "Just explain how we saved the galaxy."

"Yeah, and some thanks we get for that!"

"We didn't sign up for the thanks," she replies.

"A damn good thing we didn't," he says, slouching in his seat. "You do realize this is the second time we risked our asses, barely made it out alive, and no one even knows or cares? What does a guy have to do to get into a history book around here? Or hell, a medal would be nice. A promotion, a pay raise..."

"The glamorous life of a soldier in the Alliance," she agrees. "Well, the best I can do is to try to keep you out of prison, but if you want to get off at Omega and take your chances instead..."

"Not unless you're leaving me with the ship, too," he says, and sobers. "I'll speak in your defense, you know that, right? It's the least I can do."

She leans back in her seat with a sigh. The garish lights of Omega tint the cockpit a variety of clashing colors.

"There's not a lot to defend," she says. "I destroyed the alpha relay."

"For good reason," he insists. "Come on, you're not going to let them just toss you in prison, right?"

Part of her thinks she should. While there was no doubt in her mind that she would turn herself in at the conclusion of their mission, if she survived, the idea of mounting a defense seems laughable. Who is she, to sentence hundreds of thousands of people to death based on the mere possibility of something worse? In what world is that an appropriate reaction? She'd acted in the best interest of the galaxy. That was what she told herself. And now, weeks later, she wonders if there wasn't a better way.

"You did what you had to do," says Joker. "Look, you came back to life! Would you really give that up, when you have a second chance?"

"I'll tell them the truth," she allows. "It'll have to be good enough. If you want to advocate for something, tell them the Reapers are coming. We've delayed them, but they're coming. That's what the Alliance needs to hear."

“Yeah, they'll believe me when they didn't believe you,” he mutters. “Listen, I...I've been meaning to apologize. For what happened over Alchera. When you...you know. Died.”

She shakes her head. “You know I don't need an apology for that.”

"I killed you," he says.

"I got better," she replies. "Really. Put it out of your mind. If you weigh one little time that you get me killed against the six hundred times you saved my ass, it kind of evens out."

"Regardless, I will try not to do it again."

She cracks a smile. "Appreciate it. Although if we end up sharing a jail cell, you might take it back. Aiding and abetting a war criminal is probably a pretty steep sentence."

"There are several cases that I've found on record that might be pertinent to your situation," pipes up EDI. "If you would like, I will send them on to Admiral Hackett and suggest he make use of them."

"You know, she's grown on me," says Joker fondly.

"Never thought I'd hear you say that about anyone who shared your cockpit," replies Shepard. "Thanks, EDI. You can just send them to my terminal."

"To be fair, most of the people who share my cockpit move my stuff," Joker says. "A relief pilot who doesn't have a physical form is exactly what I want."

Outside, the fuel attendants finish the refueling. Shepard and Joker sit silently in the cockpit together, watching them pull the hoses back and refasten the fuel hatch.

"Straight on to Illium, huh?" he says. "Hit the Citadel, and then back home? Any other stops you want to make?"

She chews her bottom lip for a moment, thinking about the freedom she's giving up. Perhaps it's her last chance to see the stars, to feel the vastness of space around her. There are so many planets she'd love to see again, breathtaking in their beauty and savagery, places where she's visited and places she's never made it to. Places she has fond memories of, and places that...

"From the Citadel," she says slowly, "how far is Alchera?"

 

-

 

There is no flash of understanding, no flashbacks to the attack. Though Joker makes light of the journey, Shepard sees the unease in his bearing, the way his hands tremble, just the slightest bit, as they enter the planet's orbit.

He can't come with her, can't maneuver in the hardsuit like she can, but he can tag along via the small camera attachment she mounts on her helmet. When she steps out of the shuttle onto the frozen ground, the vast barren landscape leaves her breathless. Through a blue and white swirl of clouds and snow, the sky is bright with stars, their light reflecting on the sheets of ice underfoot.

"A frozen hellscape," says Joker in her ear.

"You think so? I thought I might retire here," she replies.

"You almost did," he points out.

Wreckage is strewn all around. Though Shepard didn't expect to find much here besides some semblance of closure, much less of the Normandy burned up on reentry than she thought. The shell looms in the distance, the body of the ship lanced in half and jutting from the ground like an enormous skeleton. She passes the twisted remains of the Mako, frozen solid in a block of ice, and spares a moment of sadness for the days of zooming across planets, experiencing them firsthand from the ground instead of inside a shuttle.

"Bet that thing would still work if you melted it out of there," says Joker.

She edges around the familiar old vehicle and there, directly in front of her, is the majority of their faithful old ship, still emblazoned with its name on the hull, though blackened with soot and slick with ice.

"Oh," says Joker softly. Shepard can't speak, something hard and tight in her chest. She remembers, all too clearly, the panic-stricken last moments aboard the Normandy, the smoke filling the air, the fires breaking out on the crew deck. She remembers setting the distress beacon, sending Kaidan to secure the crew in the life pods, knowing the Normandy was doomed and just hoping against hope that the Alliance would send someone after them. She wonders how long it hung in orbit before the planet pulled it in to its final resting place. She wonders how long she hung in orbit before she was either dragged to the planet's surface or snatched out of space.

"She was the pride of the Alliance," says Joker mournfully.

"She was ours," agrees Shepard. It seems unfair to leave their ship here, dashed into pieces on some forgotten planet. Ice and snow crunch under her boots as she edges closer. It's foolish, she knows, getting so close to the unstable wreckage of the massive ship, but it's easier to overlook the risk than it is to actually stop herself from moving forward. She reaches out a gloved hand and touches the metal sheeting of the hull, feeling the cold even through the layers.

"Collector bastards," says Joker. "All thanks to the Reapers. You ever feel bad for what you did at Aratoht? Look at this. This is why you did it. To protect anyone else from going through this. For the sake of our old crew. For our Normandy."

Her hardsuit beeps a warning: cold hazard, energy reserves running low. While dying on Alchera is not an experience she wants to repeat, she still dawdles in returning to the shuttle, taking a long last look around the landscape, peppered with the remains of her former life.

So many of the memories she made were on this ship, the wild chase across the galaxy, the friendships, the heartaches. If returning to Earth now means giving all of that up, at least she stopped here first. At least she visited the place where those memories lie, even if it's a place as cold and desolate as Alchera.

The sensors beep their warnings once again, and she boards the shuttle, though not without a long, last look behind her. When she takes off her helmet in the warmth of the shuttle interior, she realizes her face is damp with tears.

 


	34. Chapter 34

2186 – Vancouver

 

It's an altogether different ship, Kaidan reminds himself as the Normandy SR-2 sweeps in to dock at the Alliance's spaceport. He's watching from a few stories up, close enough to see the ship and its occupants but far enough away that he won't do anything stupid.

Far enough that he can see her, but she can't see him.

Already a crowd has gathered, Alliance soldiers foremost among them. He doubts Shepard will try anything to test them; she's bringing the ship to them, after all, turning herself in, but he doesn't know for sure. He would have said she'd never blow up a mass relay and destroy an entire solar system, either, but here they are.

A knife twists in his stomach. He remembers being a part of the ship like it was yesterday, and though the differences are obvious, so too are the similarities. Part of him wonders what would happen if he just walked up to the ship, boarded like no time had passed. Maybe he could convince himself that the last two and a half years were just a horrible nightmare.

But no. He can still see the Normandy engulfed in flames when he closes his eyes, can still see Shepard's lifesigns flicker out on the monitor, can still see her shiny Alliance casket with no body inside. And now he can see the hatch open and she's there, silhouetted in the doorway, hands raised, face neutral.

Of all the things that he might have imagined happening two and a half years ago, watching Shepard be arrested by the Alliance is not one of them.

She lets the Alliance officers cuff her, walks placidly with them into the docking bay, her shoulders squared, head held high. She looks the same as she did on Horizon, the same as she did back before she died: strong, graceful, utterly lovely, and he has to tear his eyes away from the window finally, unable to look anymore. It's a blessing that he has a shuttle of his own to catch, one that will take him far across the galaxy, away from all the troublesome feelings she still stirs up in him.

“If you'd like to talk to her, I can arrange it,” says Anderson behind him, and Kaidan nearly jumps out of his skin.

“No, sir. I don't think that's a good idea.”

Anderson walks up to the window, gazes down. “I rescued her on Mindoir, did you know that?”

“She mentioned it once, yes.”

“Well, I shouldn't say I rescued her. I found her; she rescued herself. But finding her alive was one of the best moments of my career. We came to drive the batarians out but there were too many. Reinforcements took another hour to arrive and all we could do in the meantime was listen to the screaming. By that time most of the colonists were dead or captured. We killed the batarians that were left. Put a few colonists out of their misery- failed implants, no way to save them.” He sighs. “It was horrific. Precious few people survived. We scoured the colony looking for survivors for hours. We'd almost given up when this scrawny little teenager came stumbling out of the woods, soaking wet and freezing cold, wide-eyed and terrified. I carried her back to the camp. All I got out of her was her first name. For a long time I thought about her, wondered what happened to her, that shell-shocked girl who lost everything on Mindoir.

“I would never have connected her to the soldier I kept getting commendations about years later. She grew up, cut her hair short, went only by her surname. Then when I saw her on stage after Akuze, that same broken look on her face, I knew who she was, and I wanted that person on my team, that survivor, that soldier with ridiculous luck. It seemed like destiny. If there was anyone I wanted as my protégé, it was this woman who had faced the worst parts of the galaxy and refused to die.”

“Is it really her, though?” asks Kaidan. “Would Shepard, the real Shepard, really let the Bahak system be destroyed?”

“Admiral Hackett seems to accept her report.”

“So she's being arrested for what, then?”

Anderson smiles wryly. “One man's approval does not equal her innocence. Not for a matter like this. Not in court.”

He looks back out at the Normandy. Shepard is not visible any longer, but other crew members are exiting now, being taken for questioning, no doubt.

“You should talk to her. Once they process her arrest it will be more difficult to communicate with her.”

“I can't,” says Kaidan. “I can't accept that she did this. I can't accept that a woman who has experienced so much loss would inflict this much pain on the galaxy. I can't accept that she would have stood back and let Cerberus take control, that she wouldn't have fought like hell to get away. And more than that- _I saw her die_.”

“Would you forgive yourself for running away if it was really her?”

“Easier than I would forgive myself for believing her if it wasn't.”

“I respect your trust in your convictions,” says Anderson. “I hope it continues to serve you well. And I hope you don't come to regret it.”

“You really believe in her, don't you, sir?”

“I do.”

Kaidan hesitates. “Why?”

“Call it intuition, or foolishness, I don't know. But I can't turn my back on that woman who has suffered so much, who's been beaten down by the galaxy time and time again, who's fought back every slight against her twice as hard. If I'm wrong, and I don't think I am, then I'm wrong. But if I'm right, she needs support more than ever right now.” Anderson looks down at the ship, arms crossed behind his back.

“I hope you're right, sir,” says Kaidan. “But I have a shuttle to catch.”

“Of course.”

“If you could tell Shepard...”

“Yes?”

“Tell her...just...” He shakes his head. “Nevermind, sir.”

He feels the faint disapproval, but Anderson merely nods. “Good luck, Commander Alenko.”

“If she needs me,” Kaidan says suddenly, “if she needs something from me, just...let me know, okay? I don't know what I can do, but if there's something...”

“I'm sure she would appreciate it. Thank you.”

He leaves before he can say anymore, promise anymore. On the way to the shuttle he sees the crowd gathered around the security station, and though he averts his eyes, he catches a brief glimpse of Shepard standing there in handcuffs, her face expressionless.

 


	35. Chapter 35

2186 – Vancouver

May

 

"We're really going to try to bullshit our way out of this one?"

"The other option is to hand you over to the batarians," replies Anderson grimly. "And I think you'll find their brand of justice a lot harder to swallow."

Shepard sighs. It's day thirty-eight on the ground, cut off from everyone she knows, and the isolation is wearing on her. The surprise arrival of Anderson instead of her usual escort had been briefly exciting, but his reluctance to offer her any substantial help stings. A show of faith would have been nice, she thinks wryly, though she can hardly ask him to risk his position and break regs to help her again.

"I understand why this is necessary, but unless the batarians suffer an unexplained collective memory loss, they aren't going to forget about this before the Reapers get here."

"And weakening our military with a war against the batarians in the meantime isn't going to help us against the Reapers," he says. "You didn't leave us a lot of choice. Stalling is the best tactic we have."

"I miss the good old days when we'd just steal a spaceship and go on the run," she replies, earning a small smile from the man beside her.

"You were Alliance back then," he reminds her. "It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Speaking of which..."

He pauses outside the conference room, and Shepard stops with him.

"You aren't going to like this," he warns, "but try to keep your mouth shut. We've found no end of people willing to act as character witnesses for you, and the fact that so many of them are aliens makes you look good to the batarians. But the Alliance wants to see human faces, preferably ones who have served with you."

He lets it hang in the air for a moment, and Shepard swears softly under her breath.

 

-

 

It's abundantly clear that Alenko would rather be anywhere else than in this room. He sits stiffly, staring straight ahead, avoiding Shepard's attempts to catch his eye. When he states his name and rank for the team of lawyers it's in a flat, clipped voice. Over the past month Shepard has been in this room nearly every day, watching them interview her friends and teammates and bicker over the pros and cons of letting each testify. Assuming they ever actually get around to the trial, she doubts, from the stony expression on Alenko's face, his list of pros will be long enough to ensure his attendance.

Shepard can't stop looking at him. He's broader in the shoulder, grayer in the temples. The shyness, the charming innocence she'd found so sweet have been stripped away. But even with his jaw set in anger, he is every inch the soldier she fell for two years ago, and she knows that if he broke into a smile she'd go weak in the knees all over again.

That doesn't seem likely to happen.

"What is your relationship to Shepard?"

"I served under her on the Normandy SR-1 from the time she took command of the ship until it was destroyed," he says. "We had a brief personal relationship between the Battle of the Citadel and her, um...death."

He steadfastly avoids her gaze. A brief personal relationship. It rankles her to hear it put into words like that, spoken in that dispassionate tone, without so much as eye contact from the man who had once looked at her like she made the galaxy spin.

"A personal relationship?" Soft murmurs break out between the legal team members, no doubt damning his reliability based on those words. Fingers fly over the holographic interfaces of their terminals.

"The Alliance is aware that we broke fraternization regs," replies Alenko coolly. "We came clean about it after the Battle of the Citadel. I believe that, given the more pressing concerns at the time and Shepard's status as a Spectre, it was brushed aside as a matter for the Council to handle. Given that Spectres have no such regulations and it didn't affect our work, nothing ever came of it."

Surprisingly, the legal team doesn't dismiss him. Their leader merely makes a note on his datapad and continues on. "How often have you spoken to Shepard since her reappearance?"

"Once. When I was stationed on Horizon, shortly after the Collector attack, she arrived to investigate the colony's disappearance. We spoke only briefly. I attempted to contact her again after she left, but she didn't reply."

Didn't reply. She seethes. She'd meant to reply. Tried on a dozen separate occasions to find the words to counter his accusations and came up with a dozen iterations of "go fuck yourself" that she'd had to fight to keep from sending. Finally, the night before they'd hit the Omega-4 relay, she'd poured her heart out into one message and set a timer on it. If she died, he would at least have that closure.

Problem was, she hadn't died on that suicide mission, and the Alliance was waiting for her when she came back. The message had never been sent, and she'd never gotten a chance to say it in person.

"What was the nature of your conversation on Horizon?"

"She stated her intention to stop the Collector attacks and asked me to join her. I declined on the basis I didn't trust her employers. Cerberus."

"And the follow-up message?"

"Was personal. I wanted clarification if the woman I met on Horizon was the same woman I served under. I'm still not sure."

And then he does meet Shepard's eyes, and she is furious.

The head of the law team, meanwhile, is perplexed.

"Are you questioning the identity of the defendant?"

"I...I don't know," admits Alenko, breaking his gaze away from hers and staring down at his knees. "She looks like Shepard, talks like Shepard. Moves like her. But Shepard died over Alchera. Whatever Cerberus brought back...isn't Shepard."

"We've verified her identity with DNA tests and scans. There is no question."

"She died over Alchera," repeats Alenko. "I was the team field medic. I had access to her hardsuit's life signs. I saw rapid increases in pulse, respiration and blood pressure consistent with asphyxiation. She didn't answer when I tried to contact her. And then everything just...went silent. Respiration ceased and then her pulse flickered out and...she died."

His voice cracks on the last word as Shepard sits in stunned horror. The memory of her terrifying launch into the emptiness of space is one that haunts her, one that wakes her in the middle of the night to gulp down air, one that sends a little shudder through her body when she passes through an airlock. She knew Alenko had probably pictured it, probably turned it over in his mind more than once, but the idea of him reliving it as though he was there for two years makes her sick to her stomach.

"People don't come back from that," he says when he's composed himself again. "Maybe she has the same DNA, the same face, the same body. Whatever happened to her after that...she can't be the same person."

Deep in her gut, Shepard agrees with him. In many ways, she's not the person she once was. Physically, she's not sure how much of her body is real and she doesn't really want to find out. Mentally...well. Does anyone stay the same after making some of the decisions she's had to make?

"Commander Alenko, I have submitted to innumerable questions, tests and scans to prove my identity," she says crisply. "I have provided the entirety of the Lazarus project to the Alliance so they might account for my whereabouts for the past two and a half years. I have provided reports detailing each assignment I completed. I can answer any detail about my history, my past allies, my past missions. What other questions can I answer to prove myself to you?"

He sucks in a deep breath. "I don't know."

She wants to protest, wants to tell him she can answer any question he gives her, the ones that nobody else knows, that she can tell him how different his eyes are in the heat of battle versus the heat of passion, that she can map the path his hands traveled over her body that first time before Ilos, that they cried together in the medbay after they lost Ashley on Virmire, but she says nothing. His gaze is pleading when he catches her eyes again.

Please convince me.

"Let us operate under the assumption that this is, indeed, the real Shepard," says the lawyer, exasperation creeping into his voice, "as we have no evidence to the contrary. Did Shepard ever display any prejudice against aliens, specifically batarians, in the time you served with her?"

"Half our ground crew was alien," he replies. "She invited them aboard. Got along with them all. Told off any crew members who didn't. We didn't encounter a lot of batarians besides mercs and slavers. There was one particular terrorist group, but..." He shrugs. "Terrorists, you know? She wouldn't have reacted any other way if they'd been human. Given what happened to her on Mindoir, her restraint was admirable."

"In your opinion, could she have initiated the strike against Aratoht in retaliation for the events on Mindoir?"

"While I don't doubt that she would take revenge against the individuals responsible for Mindoir if given the chance, she would never sacrifice an innocent life to do so, let alone 300,000 of them, regardless of race."

She barely has enough time for the warmth to bloom in her chest before he continues: "Unless she was being controlled by Cerberus. Then I don't know what she would be capable of."

Vaulting the table to sock Alenko in the jaw would definitely not help her case, she reasons. It does not stop her from seriously considering it.

"Do I really have to sit here and listen to this?" she says loudly.

"It is in your best interest to hear out Commander Alenko so we can decide whether or not to allow him to testify on your behalf."

So she listens. She sits for the remainder of the hour and listens to his brusque account of the time they spent together, their search for Saren and what came after as though it were nothing more than the recitation of any other report, bare of emotion, neatly turning their slow romance into mere apathetic fact. It drives home how far they've come from those tender days, how much she's really lost, and how deep the rift still runs between them. When the session is up she stands to leave without looking at him, and hears his voice call after her.

She doesn't turn. She can't leave, not on her own, so averting her gaze is her only refuge.

"Can I have a private moment with her?" he asks the lawyer. _Say no_ , she thinks.

An affirmative murmur. She looks desperately for Anderson or Vega, but neither appears. He calls her name again and she turns, with great reluctance, to face him.

"Commander," she says, keeping her voice as neutral as she can. Up close, the gray hair at his temples is much more pronounced, and there are soft creases around the corners of his dark eyes. His face is harder, more angular and less forgiving. He's matured in the wake of her death, a soldier jaded by pain and loss, the ghosts of sleepless nights etched into the lines of his face. She doesn't remember ever feeling so small in his shadow as she does now.

"Shepard. Look, I...thought we should talk."

"Why?"

"To clear the air."

"I'm not interested. You said everything you needed to say."

He sighs. "I really want to believe you. About everything."

"Then believe me! You never had reason to doubt me before. Do you really think I've changed that much? Have _you_ changed that much? Do you think I would ask you to do anything I didn't truly believe was the right choice?"

"Shepard, you were dead. How could I trust anything Cerberus claimed to bring back from the dead? For two years, the one thing I wanted the most was to have you back. And then there you were, and you're working for them? What was I supposed to think?"

"You were supposed to be my friend. You could have given me five minutes to explain," says Shepard through gritted teeth. "You could have taken five minutes to let me tell you how the Alliance wanted no part in helping me stop the Collectors, how they were perfectly willing to let colonists die, and how Cerberus gave me a ship and a crew and a reason to trust them. Yeah, it didn't work out. Maybe I didn't stall the Reapers as long as I'd hoped. But you can be damn sure if I had to wait around for the Alliance or the Council to listen to me, we'd all be soup in a Collector ship right now."

He looks stricken. She takes a savage pleasure in his anguish.

"Why didn't you say any of that? Why didn't you respond to my message?"

He says it quietly, aware that her voice has risen noticeably, and the law team is glancing over at them. But she is done being covert. The words she wanted to say to him come fast and hard and full of rage, and she couldn't stop them if she wanted to.

"Your message? Your fucking 'I don't trust you but good luck on your suicide mission' message? You honestly think you deserved a response after Horizon? I came to you, the one person I thought I could trust, the one person I thought would trust me, and you spat in my face!"

"It was two years, Shepard! Do you think I had a good time of it, mourning your death? Do you have any idea what it's like to lose that many people, to be the one that walks away, that has to go on living-”

“Do I have any _idea_? Do I have any _fucking idea_?”

“No, I- sorry, I didn't think,” he says quickly.

“Don't you fucking tell me how hard it is, Kaidan Alenko,” she says, her voice shaking with fury. “I know exactly what it's like, time and time again. I get how much you suffered. And I'm sorry you were alone for those two years. I truly am. I'm sorry you saw me die. I'm sorry for all that time you spent mourning me. I can only imagine how hard that was. But from my perspective it had been weeks. A matter of weeks between the last time I saw you, when you were crazy about me, when you trusted me enough to help me hijack a warship, and you calling me a traitor on Horizon. That's a hell of a whiplash. That's why I didn't respond to you. There was nothing to say.

"And now here you are again, telling me I'm some Cerberus puppet. What will it take for you to believe me? My face, my DNA, my memories, my body can't do it, so what can? The way you talk, it's like you'd rather I stayed dead."

“I...no, Shepard. Of course not.” He says it softly, hurt, eyebrows drawing together.

“Then figure out what the hell you want from me. I'm the same person I've always been, trying to do what's right for the galaxy while the rest of you stick your fingers in your ears and pretend nothing bad is happening.”

“What was I supposed to do? You were gone, there was no evidence except Anderson's word, and the Council and the Alliance both wrote you off as a lunatic for what you said about the Reapers.”

She shakes her head. “And you were in no hurry to correct them. Really great, Alenko. Helped me out a lot, after all we went through.”

“Yeah, and get fired or worse for my trouble, because that would have helped.”

“I'm sure the Reapers will be impressed by how well you served the Alliance when they get here,” she sneers.

He flushes angrily. A direct hit, she thinks. “You're goddamn impossible, you know that?”

“And you still have a stick up your ass about the rules. After all the time we spent together, you still don't get that doing the right thing isn't always easy.”

“The right thing? Tell me what the right thing to do was. Tell me what you would have done, if I would have shown up working for the people who killed your entire squad on Akuze, who committed all those atrocities in the name of advancing humanity. If you tell me you'd have done anything besides shoot me dead on sight, you're a liar.”

“Anyone else? Yes. But you? I lo- had feelings for you. I would hear you out.”

“Like you're hearing me out now.”

She laughs bitterly. Behind him, Anderson appears in the doorway, glancing around the room for her. “Fine. You wanna trade places, then let me leave you just like you left me on Horizon. 'Fuck you and good luck.' That's exactly what you told me. And that's what I'm telling you: fuck you, Alenko. Clearly none of this meant anything to you, and I guess I didn't mean that much to you either, that you can't understand why I did what I did. What I had to do. What I always fucking do. I'm sorry I wasted my time.”

“Shepard, you know that's not-”

She brushes past him without another word. There's something hard and tight in her throat and she can't, _won't_ let him see it. “Let's go,” she mutters to Anderson. “I've had enough of this courtroom to last a lifetime.”

Alenko calls after her one more time. She ignores him.

 


	36. Chapter 36

2186 – Vancouver

October

 

“You were part of Commander Shepard's crew during the Battle of the Citadel, right?” says Vega, and Kaidan starts. He's still staring after Shepard, though she and Anderson have since disappeared into the courtroom. It's been months since he's seen her, since that awful fight, and though it still hurts to think about the malice on her face and the venom in her voice, he's glad to see her well- or as well as possible, under the circumstances.

“Yes. That was a long time ago.” Almost three years, he realizes. And sometimes he still wakes in confusion, wondering why he isn't in his bunk on the Normandy, why he isn't in Shepard's bed. Three years. And yet she's been so close over these past several months, just a few floors away in the detention center. He'd thought about visiting, more than once. But the memory of those last few hateful barbs still stings at him, and he's too unsure how to proceed without inviting further wrath upon himself. And yes, he's still a little angry, too.

“How come you weren't with her against the Collectors?”

There's no accusation, just an innocent question, but it jabs at him nonetheless.

“It's a long story.” Kaidan turns to leave, uninterested in discussing it any further, but something catches his eye through the heavy tempered glass window. Beside him, Vega pauses as well, and the two of them stand in front of the window as a dark shape descends through the clouds and fog into the center of the city.

Three years ago, he saw a shape like that. Three years ago he stood on Eden Prime with Shepard and Ashley and watched that malevolent alien shape rise from the planet's surface. This time, it's landing.

This time, it's not alone.

“Díos,” says Vega. Kaidan takes in a sharp breath. They don't have time to say anything else. There's a sound like the world is ending and a light brighter than hell itself before the building shudders, the window implodes, and they're knocked off their feet.

The air fills with screams and debris. Broken glass is everywhere as they struggle off the ground. Kaidan's ears are ringing and he moves automatically towards the courtroom, towards Shepard, but Vega grabs his shoulder.

“You won't make it that way!” he yells. It's true: the impact has badly destabilized the building, and the hallway to the courtroom has been cut as cleanly as a hot knife through butter. Kaidan wavers, trying to think. It's dangerous to attempt to reach Shepard that way: he has no armor, no weapons, and no way back even if he finds her. And yet there is no question that he has to go after her, has to make sure she's alive. But then what? They'll be forced to shelter in this collapsing building or try to evacuate to the-

“Major Alenko!” It's Anderson's voice, slightly distorted through the radio. “I've got Shepard with me. Head to the Normandy, we'll meet you there!”

Thank God. “Aye, aye.”

He tunes his radio to the Normandy's frequency as he jogs back down the hall, down a set of stairs. Vega follows. “Joker, do you read?”

“Loud and clear. This is probably a bad time to call up the Council and shout 'I told you so!', right?”

“I'm on my way to the ship. Anderson and Shepard are heading your way, too. Get ready to move out.”

“I've been ready for six months. Hurry it up, Major. The spaceport won't last much longer.”

That's likely true. Plaster falls from the ceiling as Kaidan runs through the base, the floor shakes as the Reapers roar above them.

“Commander Shepard was right, eh?” says Vega, as they crouch beneath the rubble of a fallen ceiling.

“She usually is,” replies Kaidan. “You coming with?”

“Way I see it, the Normandy's probably the safest place to be right now. The firepower on that thing ought to do some damage to these fuckers.”

Kaidan says nothing. This won't be a fight, it will be a flight.

They move past the crumbled hallway and quite suddenly they're outdoors, where an entrance hall once stood. For the first time he sees his hometown spread out before him, infested with Reapers, broken and burning, and he staggers. These streets that he knows so well, has walked a thousand times, clogged with the dead, covered in rubble. The skyline he has looked out upon from childhood is destroyed, pieces gone like missing teeth in a familiar smile.

And there is nothing he can do about it.

He remembers, strangely, the way Shepard once described the desecration of Mindoir, and feels an unexpected kinship with her. He never understood it so well until now.

The spaceport is dead ahead, and they break into a sprint.

Kaidan accesses his omni-tool, desperately trying to reach his parents before it's too late. The signal is out. He had expected as much, but at least he can leave a message.

“Mom. Dad. You need to get out of Vancouver, right now. Stay out of the cities, get somewhere remote. I'll call you as soon as I can.”

Whether or not they hear it, whether or not it's too late, he doesn't know. They have the common sense to evacuate. The ability, on the other hand...

“Look out!” shouts Vega. He looks up: husks are barreling towards them in numbers he hasn't seen since Eden Prime. Neither has any weapons besides their omni-blades.

Luckily, between the two of them, it's over quickly. What Vega's muscle doesn't handle, Kaidan cleans up with a savage series of throws and reaves, the adrenaline borne of anger surging through him. Once again he feels that helpless rage overtake him and thinks of Shepard, the losses in her life and how they affected her. Once again he understands all too well.

“Here,” says Vega, handing him an assault rifle. The spaceport's guards, now dead, were well-armed. Beyond he can see the Normandy, still in its bay. Between there and the doorway in which they stand, a host of Reaper drones block their path. Husks, he recognizes. The others...

“What the fuck are these things?” demands Vega.

“Hell if I know!” Kaidan doesn't want to stand around long enough to find out. With gun in hand and biotics at the ready, they fight their way through the creatures towards the ship. That they're Reaper made is obvious. What they're made of, is less so. Parts look human, parts look alien. What he does know is that they'll take center stage in his nightmares in the weeks to come.

"We're in sight of the spaceport," says Anderson through the radio.

"Hurry it up, Alenko, I've got about thirty seconds left before this Reaper is on top of me!" urges Joker.

The airlock door glows green under his omni-tool and slams shut behind them. Kaidan bypasses the decontamination sequence and they burst onto the bridge.

"Welcome aboard, Major Alenko, Lieutenant Vega," says a cool robotic voice.

"Yeah, hi," says Joker. "Hold onto something!"

The deck lurches beneath them. Kaidan can hear debris raining on the hull as they leave the spaceport for the Reaper-strewn skies. Despite everything, there's no pilot he'd trust more in this situation.

"We made it to the Normandy," Kaidan tells Anderson as a beam of light lances the sky just in front of them. "We're taking heavy fire! Where are you?"

"We had to take an alternate route. We'll radio you when we're close."

"So how have you been?" asks Joker casually as they dodge a flurry of shuttles. "Keeping busy?"

"The nature of this conversation is not appropriate considering our precarious situation, Jeff," says the robotic voice again.

“Deadly combat situations are the best time for humor, EDI,” argues Joker, expertly navigating them around a Reaper, close enough that Kaidan can see the texture in its hard outer shell. “Takes the edge off. Makes it seem like-”

Another blare from one of the Reapers drowns him out. Ahead, a frigate spirals towards the ground, its tail end on fire. A dreadnought lifts off from the remains of the spaceport, painfully slow. Kaidan wills it to move faster, a Reaper advancing on it, but its bulk is such that it achieves lift only gradually. He shouts, Joker swears, and they take a violent turn to avoid the ensuing explosion.

He grips the back of the co-pilot chair and tries not to do the math in his head, the number of people who serve on a ship that size, the number of people in the blast radius, the number of people dying with every second that passes.

The radio connection fades in and out. Anderson's voice dissolves into static.

“EDI, find that signal,” says Joker, punching at the controls in front of him. “We're going for a little ride.”

It's maybe ten minutes, but it seems like they spend an eternity on an airborne roller-coaster ride, weaving between buildings, ducking Reaper beams, scanning desperately for Anderson's signal. Kaidan pictures with absolute clarity Shepard crushed under debris or vaporized in that hellish beam of light or torn apart by a mob of husks. Why did he let this go on so long? Why didn't he reach out to her while she was under house arrest, try to work through some of their issues? Why did he let her slip away once again when she was so close?

“Found 'em,” says Joker. “Joker to the rescue. Just like the old days. With slightly more Reapers.”

Aboard, Shepard is covered in blood and dust, her face grim. When the shuttle bay door closes and they whip upwards through the atmosphere, she stands in the center of the room for just a moment, looking lost and unsure. There's a cut at her hairline slowly dribbling blood down the side of her face. Her eyes are far away.

That lapse in confidence shakes him, too.

His hometown is burning. The entire Earth is under attack. The Reapers are here and Shepard is utterly lost.

But only for that moment.

“You're bleeding,” he says, and her eyes snap back to focus, her face goes cold and closed and hard again.

“It's fine,” she says.

“I have some medi-gel, if you want me to-”

“It's _fine_ ,” she says again. He recognizes the familiar bite in her reply, bordering on hostility. “It's just blood. I need someone monitoring the channels til we get to the Citadel. We need all the information we can get. I want to know everything that's happening, everything we can squeeze out of the comms.”

It's almost a relief to take her orders again. There's the briefest of moments where he wonders if he should remind her that he outranks her, that he has no obligation to take orders from her anymore, but any hesitation melts away almost instantly.

This is Shepard's battle more than anyone's.

“Aye-aye, ma'am,” he says.

And there's a flicker of something in her eyes. Familiarity, perhaps, the same as he feels. Relief. She nods, almost imperceptively, and then the moment is gone.

 

-

 

The trip to Mars is tense.

It's lucky that the journey is barely an hour. Shepard busies herself readying armor that hasn't been worn in months, making minute adjustments to fit it to a body used to Earth gravity and civilian clothing. It's easier not to think about Earth right now- her head is spinning and the adrenaline makes it hard to sit still.

Earth is not her home, never has been. Space is her domain, her sanctuary, and a part of her is calmed by merely being on the ship. The Normandy represents freedom, the ability to escape where all those poor souls back in Vancouver did not.

Vancouver isn't her home, but it is Alenko's.

His face is stoic when she dares to glance over. She knows he won't say anything, won't complain or cry, won't question her orders as they travel millions of miles away from where his hometown is burning beneath a Reaper-filled sky, but she knows just as well when he's hurting inside, when he's burying his feelings. There's nothing else for him to do right now. Still, she wants to reach out to him, wants to comfort him, even though she's just as shaken, but if he's still aching from the last time they spoke, and she thinks he is, he won't accept her comfort anyway.

She regrets it now.

Her armor is still in good condition, and the adjustments are minimal. By the time they're landing on Mars she's dressed and ready, stretching stiff joints and muscles.

"Are you all right, Commander?"

She turns. Alenko isn't looking at her, holding onto the side of the shuttle as they depart the ship. His armor is new, she notices, heavier than he used to wear, and she's glad for it, remembering a litany of close calls, the feel of medi-gel on her fingers and his blood on the ground.

"I'm fine," she replies. "I'm...sorry about Vancouver. Are your parents..?"

The expression on his face doesn't change. "There's no way to know. But I appreciate your concern. Looks like you were right."

She doesn't say anything. She could agree, but somehow she doesn't think rubbing it in is the best course of action when treading so cautiously around him. So instead she puts on her helmet and he puts on his, and they prepare to work, together and yet so far apart.

Vancouver. She was there for six months under house arrest and yet she'd never learned any more than the Alliance base, the spartan military housing where she'd been confined. She never asked Alenko where he lived, if his family was still there, the little spots from his childhood where he spent his time and held fond memories of. And now they're distant and cold, and the Reapers are here, and Vancouver is burning.

_It could have been so different_ , she reflects bitterly. _We could have stopped this_.

She's still upset that he didn't fight for her while she was dead, didn't pursue the matter of the Reapers when something could have been done. Maybe if he had, they would have a plan by now. Maybe if she hadn't died, the war would already have been won.

Maybe if she hadn't screamed at him, hadn't thrown a fit the last time they spoke, they might have made up. Maybe they could have spent some time together, enjoyed that time they never got to have, made the most of their lives before the Reapers showed up.

Maybe. She sighs. He glances at her briefly and their eyes meet. Those same brown eyes, older and tired, full of suspicion and hurt.

"That's a helluva storm," says Vega, breaking her out of her reverie, and they set off into the maelstrom.

 

-

 

"Commander."

Someone is shaking her awake, gentle but firm. For a moment she's disoriented, then the smell of antiseptic and the clamor of voices come back to her, and she remembers. The hospital. Their escape from Earth and the journey to Mars, and Alenko... _Kaidan_...

"Is he okay?" she blurts out. Vega is standing over her, concern on his face.

"The doc says you can see him. And the Normandy's almost finished refueling. As soon as you're ready, we'll get moving to Palaven."

She rubs her eyes and stands. "Thanks, James. Head back to the ship, I'll be there in ten. I just..."

"...have to check. I get it, Commander. You're as human as the rest of us."

As Vega departs, she heads deeper into the hospital. She's fully awake now but still feels like she's struggling out of a dream. The scene on Mars plays over and over in her head, the way the robotic body had lurched out of the fire, grabbed Kaidan by the helmet and...

A kindly nurse points her in the right direction. She just needs to stop for a minute, just to make sure he's alive, to make sure he's okay-

The door slides open with a hiss and he's there, laid out in the hospital bed looking just as bad as she feared. How many times had she seen him on a medbay cot, suffering silently with his migraines or sleeping off an injury? Yet it was never like this, never this tragic mask of blood and bruising on his earnest face, never this awful ghostly visage.

Something catches in her throat, and she fights to swallow it back. The softly beeping machines around him reassure her that he's alive even though he looks for all the world like he's dead. He _could have_ died, and the last thing they would have spoken about was an argument about Cerberus. Again.

_This is your fault,_ says the voice in her head. _This happens to everyone around you_.

Ashley's stricken voice rings in her ears suddenly, a ghost from her past: _I don't regret a thing._

"I'm sorry," she says.

But her apology is wasted on an unconscious man, and there's nothing more she can do for him, not with the Earth burning more and more for every moment she stands still, even though she'd love to stand over his sickbed until he wakes, hold his cold hands and whisper reassurances to him while he's out, smooth his rumpled hair back from his forehead. But that's the sort of thing a lover might do, and she's not that, not anymore, no matter how much she cares for him. No, that was long broken between them, something too fragile to be repaired, too much anger on both sides but mainly on hers. She'd taken the broken pieces of their love and ground them into a fine dust beneath her heel.

And yet she still loves him even now.

She reaches out, touches his face, trails her fingers down the side of his cheek and jaw, feeling the prickle of stubble, the warmth of his skin. He can hate her if he wants to, maintain the gap between them if he chooses, but it wouldn't affect how she feels about him. For just a moment, she rests her hand against his cheek, for just a moment she allows herself that comfort that she so sorely misses, and then, unwillingly, pulls away.

The best she can do for him now is to leave, to go in search of the support they'll need, to do something to fight for Earth, even if it means leaving a piece of her heart here with him.

 


	37. Chapter 37

2186 – Palaven

 

She's still reeling over the destruction of Palaven when a power surge dims the ship's lights and alarms start going off. Hell, all she needs is for the Normandy to fucking explode while they're trying to put together a peace summit.

"That would be my luck," she mutters to herself, following the directions of a worried Traynor down to the crew deck. "Reapers destroying the galaxy and the only hope for humanity on my ship, and some drive core malfunction catapults us into the nearest sun. Wouldn't even surprise me."

The reality of the situation is less dire, but Shepard is less than pleased to see the robot body that only a few days before smashed Kaidan's skull against a shuttle is upright, moving, and apparently now a vessel for the ship's AI to command.

"Glossing over the part where this is something you really should consult me first about, and the part where this particular body caused grievous bodily harm to a close friend of mine, is this really the time to be experimenting with our lives while you cram yourself into a robot body?" she asks peevishly. If EDI is taken aback, she doesn't show it. Her metal shoulders shrug.

She does make several good points about being useful on ground missions, but Shepard is too pissed off to admit it. She knows she's being unfair, being hostile, but her level of stress is so high she can hardly think straight.

"I'd like to know in advance the next time you risk our lives by activating potentially dangerous machinery!" she yells after the retreating robot body.

"Never a dull moment," says Dr. Chakwas as Shepard fumes in the medbay.

“Do you remember a time when I actually had control over this ship?” she asks, and the doctor laughs.

“If you recall, the first thing you did upon taking over was invite a krogan mercenary, a quarian refugee and a disgruntled turian former officer onto this ship. So, no, I don't think you ever had a chance.” But she smiles and offers Shepard a seat. “Don't sweat the little things, Commander. There's too much on your plate already.”

“I just...I just...”

She can't admit that she sees the robot shape haloed in fire when she falls asleep, that she sees Kaidan's limp body on the ground, that she dreams she falls to her knees beside him and shakes and shakes him to no avail. That the idea of that body roaming the halls of her ship is so abhorrent to her that she can hardly stand it. But she sits, and the doctor hands her two small pills and a glass of water. To calm her nerves, she knows. Chakwas is nothing if not observant.

“It's going to get worse,” says the doctor quietly. “This is just the beginning. Let your crew handle the little things, wherever they can, while you focus on the things that only Shepard can do.”

“Why aren't you angrier?” asks Shepard. “We got held in detention for months, _months_ while the Reapers advanced, and now all of a sudden we're cleaning up their mess because they couldn't be assed to put a little faith in us. I've never been more furious in my life.”

“Anger won't solve anything,” says Chakwas. “And taking it out on your crew will solve less. This is the reality of the situation, Commander. There's nothing to do but to take each day as it comes.”

She knows, but that doesn't make it sting any less.

“Everyone is here to help you, including EDI.”

“I know,” mutters Shepard.

The doctor sits opposite her and looks through the window into the mess. “And we're still fighting. We'll keep fighting.”

Shepard takes the pills.

“This is gonna be a hell of a war summit,” she says. “You'd think we wouldn't have to beg for help after all the shit we've done for the galaxy, but here we are.” She glances at the ceiling. “EDI, what's the ETA to the Annos Basin?”

“Three days,” replies the voice promptly. “We will be making the relay jump in just under eighteen hours.”

“Thanks,” says Shepard, and then hesitates under Chakwas's gaze. “And...I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

“You are functioning under high levels of stress. Emotional outbursts are common in such situations. But thank you.”

The AI voice pauses. “And you have a message from Major Alenko.”

 


	38. Chapter 38

2186 – Citadel – Huerta Memorial Hospital

 

When Shepard appears in the doorway of his hospital room, he's not entirely prepared to see her. With precious little information getting through about Earth, he's been glued to the news broadcasts which are primarily focused on her exploits, and though he'd asked her to visit, if possible, he assumed she would be too busy. And with good reason- between the news and the quick moving rumors flying around the hospital, she's apparently attempting to unite the entire galaxy almost single-handedly.

Something flickers over her face- relief, concern? -and vanishes when their eyes meet, and she tries a hesitant smile. Combined with the way she stands awkwardly in the doorway, like she's expecting him to throw her out, it's an uncertainty that he rarely sees on her.

"Had me a little scared, Major."

"I didn't think you got scared, Commander."

It's meant to be a joke, but her smile fades and he can see the worry in her eyes, the stress she's trying to push back. His attack on Mars is a blur to him, but he seems to remember hearing her voice, hearing her scream his name before his consciousness blinked out, and he doesn't think he imagined it.

"Watching you get your head smashed in? Yeah, a little scared. How are you? You look... _well_. Your poor face."

"I'm all right," he assures her. "It looks worse than it is. Do you have time to chat? I don't mean to keep you, but I'd like a few minutes if it doesn't stop you from saving the galaxy."

The smile makes a brief reappearance. "I have a few minutes."

It's almost like old times again, talking with her like this. He doesn't realize how much he missed her smile, her laugh, her very presence at his side, her warm body so close. For a few minutes it's like she never disappeared, like the original Normandy was never destroyed, and their relationship was never fractured. It's nice, just being with her, even if he's stuck in a hospital bed and the conversation revolves around war and Reapers and lost family and friends. He tells her so.

But he can still feel the rift between them- and so can she.

"I thought you were dead," she admits finally, raising her eyes to his. "That after everything- after Virmire, and Saren, and Vancouver, I'd finally lost you. I thought you died and the last thing we ever did was argue about Cerberus. I hate that it's come to this between us."

Her voice is so earnest and open that he hates to ruin it. "Me too. But...I'm sorry. I can't forget that you worked for them. They're monsters, Shepard, and you know it. I saw your face when you told me about Akuze and when you spoke to Toombs, the emptiness in both of your eyes. I saw your bleeding fingers after you smashed that beacon on Ontarom. What they did is unforgivable."

The corners of her mouth tighten, but she doesn't raise her voice. Curiously, all that happens is a slump of her shoulders and a deep, long-suffering sigh.

"I know. God, do I know. But if stopping the Collectors meant selling my soul to the devil himself, I would have done it. I'd do the same now to stop the Reapers. Morality doesn't mean shit if you lose."

"It does if you win," he replies.

She closes her eyes. He can read the exhaustion in every line of her body, bone-weary and barely held together. The scars on her face are more pronounced, the formerly perfect creases of her uniform rumpled.

"What will it take for you to trust me again?"

It's a simple question. He wishes he had an answer. The longer he remains silent, the more hurt she looks.

"Okay," she says finally. "I don't know what to do, Kaidan. I'm so tired of fighting about this. If this is over, if this friendship is too broken to put back together, I understand. If you want to cut ties here and now, I get it. I'll leave. We won't talk, won't see each other, I'll get down on my knees and crawl back to Anderson and tell him he was right about everything and we'll end it."

He shifts in the bed, winces. "No! No, that's not what I want."

Her fingers find his. They don't interlace, just overlap, her palm warm against the back of his hand. He tries to remember the last time she touched him. Their embrace on Horizon- before he'd sent her reeling. He missed it. So many times in the past few years he's wanted this, just the simple touch of her hand.

"Then please. Try to think of something, some way I can prove myself to you, that I'm the same person you used to know. Remember everything we went through together, all the pain and the triumph, everything we lost and everything we gained."

He wants to tell her that he has been trying, that he's picked apart her behavior in search of pieces he recognizes, that he still doesn't understand her motives despite her arguments that she did it for the sake of humanity when there were so many other options, so many other routes to take to reach the same end without allying herself and her crew with the scum of the galaxy, that he desperately wants to forget that she's done it, but he merely nods. It seems to satisfy her, at least for now.

She pulls her hand away, and he aches to have it back already. "Do you ever wonder what might have happened if we'd never lost the Normandy?" she asks.

_All the time_ , he wants to say- wants to tell her how he would have used those three years they were denied, about their simple wedding and their little house in Vancouver and their baby on the way, if only she hadn't died, how he pictured it so clearly after she was gone, how he mourned the life they could have had together, how unfair it is that they're sitting here together now but virtually strangers. There's a distant look in her eyes and he knows she's pictured it, too, maybe the same things as him, maybe not.

"We would have stopped the Reapers by now," he says instead, and she smiles, but sadly, and he knows that wasn't what she meant.

"I should go," she says. "Tuchanka's waiting."

And that's it. A simple goodbye, friendly but clipped. Once again she'll walk into certain danger not knowing how he feels about her, thinking about their argument, and one of these times she won't be coming back.

As she stands, he reaches out and touches her wrist.

"Shepard. I'm...really glad you came. Talking like this...reminds me of how much I like you."

A real smile crosses her face this time, brighter than he's seen in a long time, the one that transforms her face from a textbook soldier to a human being.

"I was so afraid you were dead," she says. "I couldn't have lived with myself if you had died. Take care of yourself til I get back, okay? Don't scare me like that again."

"I won't be getting into too much trouble from the hospital bed," he assures her, and she chuckles.

"I'll hold you to that," she says, and then she's gone, and the room feels strangely empty without her.

 

-

 

When she sees him at the Spectre ceremony, she knows she's lost him.

She's halfway across the galaxy, still shaking from Tuchanka despite a number of sedatives, when the broadcast comes in from the Citadel, and she watches while finishing her report. It's heartening to see him out of bed, looking healthy again, the bruises almost gone from his face. But while she might have entertained some notion of having him on her ship again, even despite his higher rank, there's frankly no realistic reason for two Spectres to be working on the same ship, especially if they're the only two humans in the organization. No, he'll have his own assignment and she'll continue hers, and the galaxy will fall apart around them.

It would have been nice, she thinks, to share these final days together. Foolish, maybe, considering their history, but nice all the same, just having him near while the galaxy is ending.

"Decent choice," says Vega, who's in the lounge with her. "Part of your crew. Good biotic. Never went to N-School, did he?"

"No," says Shepard absently, fixed on the images on screen. "L-2 implants disqualify him. Too unstable."

"You must be proud, though."

"Might be the first good decision Udina's ever made," she says, watching him gesture on the screen. Kaidan stands straight and tall, every inch the soldier. The footage isn't great this far from the Citadel, and the sound cuts in and out, but she's focused on his face. "He deserves it."

"I don't know," says Garrus. "He's an excellent soldier, but a Spectre?"

The tiny, mean part of Shepard agrees with him. It's not that Kaidan doesn't have the ability or the temperament- hell, he's got her beat in the latter, for sure- but it seems so sudden, coming so quickly on the heels of his injury. Maybe it's just her, the lost two years making it seem so much faster, making her forget that he had a life outside of her, that he's only gotten better with age. He was with her through the entirety of their fight against Saren, after all, a vital component of her team. He's capable, dependable, and far more level-headed than she is. A picture-perfect soldier, a talented biotic, and an excellent candidate for a Spectre.

But then again, he's not the one that's just sicced a thresher maw on a Reaper.

Her throat threatens to close up and she hastily pushes the memory out of her head again.

"Could be they're hurting for Spectres," says Vega. "Maybe they wanna shore up the numbers before it's too late."

"He's good," says Shepard. "He'll be an asset. They're lucky to have him."

"Kinda thought that he'd want to join us again," says Garrus. "What with the history and the camaraderie, things like that. Guess he's outgrown us."

She makes a noncommittal noise. "If the Council needs him, he's more useful there."

On the screen, he smiles, and she thinks idly about her own ceremony. It had been small, hasty, not the morale-boosting event that they clearly intend this one to be, with no one but Anderson and Ash and Kaidan to witness it. It feels like so much longer ago than it really was.

As a Spectre, he'll have access to the best equipment in the galaxy, he'll be safer than he would be with her, she knows. Still, she hates the idea of not knowing where he'll be, what dangers he's in. He could die, she realizes. Either of them could die without the knowledge of the other and they might never know. During this war, anything could happen.

Her heart thumps painfully.

"Tell you what, I'd rather have a biotic like that on my side than on the Citadel when those goddamn husks come running," mutters Vega.

“Shepard, you have a call waiting from the Council,” says EDI. She groans.

“Great,” she says, tearing her eyes away from the screen. “Can't wait to hear what they fucked up this time.”

 


	39. Chapter 39

2186 – SSV Normandy

Post Citadel Coup

 

For every few hours she manages to sleep, Shepard wakes in a cold sweat at least once. This is nothing new. In the aftermath of the Normandy's destruction, after waking from the dead, after narrowly escaping the massacre on Earth, it would be stranger if she didn't dream at all. She dreams of leaving Ashley behind on Virmire: the expression of betrayal on Ash's face when she goes to rescue Kaidan instead, though she never saw it, the geth swarming her while she and the salarians who remained behind try to hold them off, the white-hot flash of the bomb scorching the planet's surface while the Normandy sped away. She dreams of the blackness, the stillness of space, oxygen thinning and disappearing, her desperate lungs straining, her mind dimming, the blaze of fiery debris blurring in her fading vision. She dreams of all the people back on Earth, perishing in the blast of a red flash of light from a towering Reaper or being crushed under debris from the crumbling cities, overwhelmed with fear and despair. She dreams of the great sinuous form of the biggest thresher maw she's seen in her life entwined around a struggling Reaper, two of the worst creatures in the galaxy locked in a deadly embrace. She dreams of Mordin, sacrificing himself for the krogan cure, the bravery it took for him to step into that elevator, the fear he must have felt. She dreams of Thane, grievously injured and dying slowly while she ran after his assailant, leaving him behind.

And now she dreams of the Citadel, of standing gun to gun with Kaidan, but this time he doesn't stand down, and she doesn't have a choice. _A bullet in the gut, shock on his face as he falls to his knees. He never thought she'd do it, thought she'd back off, and this cements it, doesn't it, that she's no longer the woman he used to know, and he's on the floor bleeding out. She kneels over him in horror. His eyes are glassy._

She's shaking when she wakes up, rolling out of bed and barely catching herself before she hits the floor. Her helmet is sitting on the desk. She grabs it, yanks it on and screams into its confines, filling her ears with her own voice, screaming until her throat is raw, on her knees on the floor of her cabin. _It's too much, it's too much, it's too fucking much!_

Eventually she slides the helmet off again, face red and covered in a sheen of sweat. She's safe. Everyone's safe. But her heart is still racing until she checks her omni-tool and- yes, according to the readout he's there, still alive, asleep in his bunk, vitals stable, just like the rest of the crew.

In the bathroom, she splashes her face with water and sinks down onto the floor, reassuring herself with the bright map of numbers indicating his life signs.

She's tired of waking from nightmares, tired of obsessively checking her crews' life signs. She's tired of running into a rain of bullets, tired of collapsing into bed hurting all over. She's tired of people dying. She's just tired.

And she doesn't know what to do. Every step feels like a step backwards, every success feels like a molehill, every failure a mountain. Nothing she does accomplishes anything more than screaming into her helmet.

She finds herself in the lounge before too long, staring out at the expanse of stars. For so much of her life they've been her escape, her salvation. Now they're a constant reminder of the trials that await her each day, always holding something bigger and worse for her to face. Mindoir. Akuze. Virmire. Alchera.

Earth.

All on her shoulders.

 

-

 

Returning to the Normandy is both comfortingly familiar and painfully different.

No one is hostile to him, and hell, Liara is downright friendly, but he doesn't feel the same sense of camaraderie that made the crew so special to him before. Even Shepard is distant. She has a lot on her plate, he knows, barely enough time to sleep, so he feels guilty to want more than the weary half-smile she throws to him every now and then, and their relationship is still rocky so it already seems like more than he deserves.

It's late in the sleep cycle when he drifts down to the lounge, unable to sleep, haunted by dreams of the destruction on Earth, the possible fate of his father, the likely fate of his mother if they don't find a way to stop the Reapers. Outside the window the stars beckon to him, and he walks right past Shepard, who is curled up on the sofa, in his haste to reach them.

"Hey," she says, sitting up, and he starts and turns. There's a red mark on her cheek where it has pressed against the sofa cushion and her hair is flat on the side, sticking to her face.

"Sorry," he says. "I'll go, if you want."

"No, stay. I feel like we've been missing each other lately. Every time I'm headed one way, you're going the other." She uses both hands to rumple her hair, letting it fall more naturally into place. Exhaustion lies heavy on her, in the bags under her eyes and the slump of her shoulders. "Can't sleep either, huh?"

After a moment of judging how much space to leave between them, he sits a respectful distance away from her on the sofa. "It's a little hard to justify an uninterrupted eight hours when there's people dying every second."

"Tell me about it."

“I've actually been hoping to talk to you,” he says. “This...tension between us, I just...we never used to have that, you know? And it's my fault, I know that. I was awful to you on Horizon, then I cornered you back in Vancouver...”

“You were right,” she says simply. “About Cerberus. About what you said in Vancouver. You had no reason to trust me and every reason to be suspicious. If our roles had been reversed I would absolutely have done the same. I was cruel to you. I was angry, but I had no excuse for what I said. It's just been a hell of a couple of years, and all that frustration built up, and you were a convenient outlet.”

She rubs the scar on her cheek, the new one she brought back from her rebirth, her eyes cast low to the ground, and it occurs to him how very sad she looks- something in the corner of her lips and the crease between her eyebrows. It's not an expression she wears often.

“I got too caught up with Cerberus,” he says quietly. “I never thought about what you might be feeling. What it might be like to lose two years of your life.”

“No one does,” she replies bitterly. A nerve exposed and touched, a story bottled up begging to be laid bare, a torment kept private too long. Has no one really asked, in the year since she's returned, about what it was like to die, what it was like to be yanked back from the edge and forced into an uneasy alliance with a sworn enemy, what it was like to walk back into a life that had long given up on her? Did Cerberus, when they were repairing the physical, give a damn about the mental trauma of asphyxiating alone in the ruins of her ship, about her friends and loved ones turning their backs on her, about her only allies being the people who happily marched her squad to their deaths on Akuze?

“I'd like to hear about it,” he says, and she raises her eyes to him. Tired, yes, but they burn as brightly as ever.

She sighs. “I'd like to talk about it, but I have too much to deal with right now without dredging up that bullshit. One day, when all this is settled..."

"I know you're stressed, I just..." Suddenly it's three years ago and he's tongue-tied in her presence again, afraid of spilling his guts to her for fear she might reject him. "If there's one thing I've learned from being with you, Shepard, it's that there's not always a 'later' to count on. I don't want to repeat the same mistakes as last time. There were so many things I left unsaid because I thought I was moving too fast, too many things I put off and then you were gone and there wasn't any time left to tell you. And I'm just afraid of it happening again, between all the shit we face every day, that one of us won't make it back and we'll miss that chance again."

The hard lines in her face soften and that crack in her armor shows up again, the one you have to know how to look for, the vulnerability she doesn't show around anyone else.

"It's like when Ash died," she says quietly. "I feel guilty complaining about anything when so many people are dying. What right do I have to be upset about getting a second chance at life, regardless of what it cost me? Ashley never got that chance. I didn't want to ally myself with them, but I couldn't turn my back on what was happening. What else could I have done? Returned to my place in the Alliance and pretended nothing unusual was going on? The Alliance didn't want me back, the council didn't want me back. One day I was the hero of the Citadel and the next I was a liability, a conspiracy theorist they'd rather have kept dead and buried. One day I had a ship and a crew and a lieutenant who cared for me, the next I had given my life for all of them but lost them regardless. I woke up friendless, jobless, forgotten, with no resources and no belongings and no idea what happened to any of it.

"I remember dying. I remember panicking, trying to fix my oxygen line before it was too late, but knowing all the while it didn't matter if I did, I'd still be a speck of debris long before I could be rescued, just hoping that you and Joker and everyone else was safe. I fought so hard against the pain, against this black curtain that was closing over my eyes, and I heard your voice over the radio, and I knew you were okay, and I knew you would take care of everyone for me, and I just..." She swallows hard. "...let go."

Emotion chokes the last two words thickly out of her, and her eyes are glistening, but she masters herself. He wants to close the distance between them, sweep her into his arms as if to banish the memory, to make up for the three years they spent apart, but they aren't close enough for that anymore, are they? Would she shake him off if he did, rebuke him for trying to rekindle a relationship that no longer exists? Or does she want it as badly as he does, waiting, hoping that he'll take the chance to comfort her?

Before he can decide, she barrels on, her voice strong again.

"There was nothing after I died, or if there was, I can't remember it. I woke up in a lab that was under attack and the only reason I knew any time had passed at all was the upgraded armor Cerberus provided. I fought them, told them I wanted no part of their mission, screamed and raged about Akuze, but I always got the same answer- that wasn't them, it was a rogue cell, and was the Alliance so perfect in everything they'd done? I didn't care. I was prepared to hand everything over to the Alliance as soon as we docked at the Citadel, but no one was willing to do anything about the Collectors, so I left. Everything was so...strange. I'd dedicated my life to the Alliance and in a way being abandoned by them wasn't so different from losing my squad at Akuze. I was lost. I wasn't ready to trust Cerberus, but the reality was they were the only ones who were there for me.

“And then they weren't, and I ended up grounded and detained by the Alliance. Once again, no friends, no resources, hell, they even froze my bank accounts.” She gives a small, humorless laugh. “Now it's 'wow Shepard, you were right all along, please fix everything for us!' If we get out of this alive I swear I'm going to break the nose or nose equivalent of each and every person who doubted me along the way.”

“Suppose I'll be first in line, then.”

A long, searching look. “I think I punished you enough. All that gray in your hair- that because of me?”

Self-consciously, he runs his fingers through it. “A good bit of it, I'm sure.”

“Well. At least it looks good on you. Suits you better than a broken nose would. I've seen your face bruised up enough for a lifetime.”

She reaches out with one hand, touches the spot where his lip had been split weeks before with the pad of her thumb. It's gentle, a little playful, and the first time they've touched since he was in the hospital. His stomach flips once, and she draws back as if just realizing what she was doing.

“Besides,” she adds, as if she hadn't touched him, “from all accounts, you were kind of a mess without me for a while there.”

“I was,” he agrees. “I wished so badly I could turn back time, throw you over my shoulder and force you into an escape pod, even if you'd hate me for it. I wanted to be angry at Joker, but I couldn't. You'd have done the same for any of us, and you'd never have forgiven yourself if he'd died when you could have saved him.”

“You know me well. Still, I'm sorry you had to grieve for me. You really didn't...date anyone else while I was gone? What happened with your Citadel doctor?”

He gives her a rueful smile. "Well, you know how it is. You go out for drinks with a brilliant, handsome doctor, make tentative plans to see him again, then realize you have no feelings for him because Commander Shepard utterly ruined you for every other person in the galaxy."

The corners of her eyes crinkle and she finally laughs.

“Yours is the only ass-kissing I'll tolerate on this ship,” she says, still grinning. “A girl's gotta keep her ego inflated a little.”

“Happy to be of service.”

“Look at you. You've grown a lot since you were my eager-to-please little lieutenant, but some things stay the same, don't they?”

He chuckles. “Little? I'm older than you are, Shepard. Taller, too.”

“And a higher rank.”

“Only because you...died. Anderson fought for a posthumous promotion. You deserved at least to be staff commander. But then everyone was trying to downplay the Reapers and I guess it didn't make sense to dredge your name up again and remind people.”

She tilts her head. “Don't sell yourself short. You earned every promotion you got and you know it.”

“And you'd be an admiral by now if the Normandy hadn't gone down.”

“Again with the ass-kissing. You'll spoil me.” She's smiling, and for a moment he thinks she's about to reach for his hand, but she doesn't. Instead, her smile fades.

“I missed you,” she says suddenly, seriously. “I really have. After Horizon, thinking that you hated me...it was painful. On top of everything else that was happening, to have you reject me...you broke my heart,” she finishes in a rush, color appearing high in her cheeks. “And maybe that sounds silly, or stupid, I get it, Commander Shepard laid low by stubborn feelings for an ex-lover...”

“You're human,” he replies simply. “But...is that what I am to you? An ex?”

Surprise blooms on her face, her tired eyes going wide, her lips parting slightly, and something else lingers in her expression: hope, perhaps, as she scans his face for deeper understanding.

“Do you feel otherwise?” she asks finally, tentatively, and he thinks again about reaching out to her, kissing the question off her lips, showing her exactly how he feels otherwise-

EDI's smooth voice interrupts them. “Commander, there is an urgent call for you.”

“Urgent,” sighs Shepard. “Of course there is. I'll be right there.”

And the spell is broken, and her mask is in place again, obscuring all hint of emotion, hiding the woman deep within the outer shell of a warrior.

“Try to get some sleep,” she says. “We'll be at the Citadel in about five hours.”

“Dinner,” he blurts out. “On the Citadel. If you have time.”

The mask vanishes just for an instant to reveal a genuinely pleased smile.

“I'd like that,” she says, and departs.

 


	40. Chapter 40

2186 – Citadel

 

He doesn't mean to say it the way he does, but when she's across the table from him, the familiar smile on her face, the words finally slip out. Long overdue, maybe, still too soon, perhaps. He's said the words in his head dozens of times, dozens of ways, pictured her every possible response. But now, in the moment, when he has her full attention and maybe regained her affection, he doesn't want to wait anymore, can't stand the thought of losing her again with the words unsaid.

“I love you, Shepard. I always have.”

Part of him still braces for rejection. He could handle it if she rebuffed him, would be happy enough just to be by her side, to support her through the war with no expectations, knowing she has enough on her plate without his misplaced feelings, but he would always ache for what could have been, what they fumbled and lost between themselves over the agonizing course of three years.

He should have told her before Alchera, should have gone with his gut, and maybe they could have had something-

“I love you, too.”

There's an uncharacteristically giddy smile on her face, and he breaks into a grin to match. It's more than he could have hoped for, more than he deserves, maybe, and when he clasps her hands in his it's almost like nothing ever changed between them, that they're back on the Normandy making holiday plans before that fateful accident. Better, even: knowing they've both grown, they've both matured, and they've worked through a host of frenzied emotions and landed again on love.

“I've never said that before,” she admits, and it's almost shy.

“I'll have to say it more often, then,” he replies.

“That was better than the last time you confessed feelings for me,” she breathes, laughter in her eyes. “In my cabin, before Ilos.”

“That was pretty good too, though, right?”

“It was,” she agrees. “It was really good. What made you trust in me again?”

“Come on. You're putting the galaxy back together. Everything you've done in the past few weeks should have earned you a medal. And...” he hesitates. “I'm tired of searching for things to blame on you to justify my response to you showing up alive again.”

“And I'm tired of talking about it,” she says. “Let's agree to let it go. We're in the middle of a war; there are enough things to worry about and precious few to enjoy.”

“I'd like that,” he says.

“Do you realize this is our first date?” says Shepard a little bit later, while they're eating. He's missed his mouth at least three times, too distracted by her to pay attention to his meal. Does she know how remarkable she is, what she does to him by just existing in his vicinity? “This is the first time you've ever taken me out for dinner.”

“What was that week on the Citadel, then, if not a date?”

“Does it count as a date if we never left the room? I'd call it a...rendezvous.”

He chuckles. “So what does a first date with Shepard entail, then?”

“Based on past experience? Dinner, awkward conversation, a fumbling kiss goodnight. Course, that was my last date, and I was about sixteen. Kissing has gotten better since then. I wouldn't say no to another rendezvous, though,” she adds, that wicked spark he remembers so well glinting in her eyes. “Preferably as soon as possible.” Heat uncoils in his belly, but he doesn't let it show on his face.

“Oh? I thought we'd get dessert,” he says innocently. “Maybe another drink?”

“Tease,” she complains, but she's smiling.

He does kiss her, though, a little later near their table on the Presidium: slowly, purposefully, and she makes a soft sound against him, gripping his arms. It's like he remembers, the spark relit between them. She pulls away only reluctantly.

“I got eleven pings on my omni-tool while we were eating,” she says ruefully.

“Go on and save the galaxy,” he says. “I'll be waiting.”

 

-

 

He loves her.

He still loves her, even after everything, and she can't stop smiling. He'd kissed her goodbye at the end of their date, soft and slow and sweet, and she can still feel it against her lips even as she tries to push it out of her head. There's too much to do for her to be obsessing over a kiss, there are too many people dying every day for her to waste time thinking about it, and yet she can't stop picturing the open, honest expression on his face as he'd bared his soul to her.

He loves her.

But there are a million other things demanding her attention, and it's late by the time she gets back to the ship. The crew deck is quiet, and she's disappointed he isn't up waiting for her, but understands. When the elevator door opens to the landing outside her quarters, she finds him there, sitting on the floor with a stack of datapads beside him.

"Shepard," he says, rising to his feet. "Just...getting some work done while you were out. I thought- I didn't want to assume, but I thought-"

"Shut up," she says, grabbing him by the collar, and pulls him down for a kiss.

It's not the soft sweet kiss from before; it's hard and desperate, full of three years' worth of love and anger and resentment and longing, and he responds in kind, lifting her off the floor and scattering datapads across the landing. She fumbles for the door lock behind them and they burst into her quarters.

"I missed you," she gasps into his ear, the rasp of his stubble against her cheek as he turns to catch her mouth again. She forgot how good it was to feel his hands against her hips, the heat of his body against hers, his lips at the base of her neck. They're still half-dressed when he takes her over the side of the bed, her bare legs wrapped around his waist, hands fisted in his hair. It's rough and raw, so unlike their first time before Ilos, all fumbling hands and gentle exploration, but it's exactly what she needs, surrendering herself to his care, letting go of control for one tiny portion of her life.

"You make me feel human," he'd said to her once, and she repeats his words back to him now, with more meaning than he knows. Or perhaps he does, because he pauses, tenderly brushes the damp hair off her forehead, and meets her eyes.

"You are human," he says, and kisses her.

Belatedly, he begins to undress her, and she says softly, "wait."

He pauses with fingers on her bare hip. "Is something wrong?"

"I...my body's not the same as you remember."

He clears his throat. "I haven't noticed any differences so far," he says meaningfully, glancing down to where they're still entwined. "Granted, we did things a little backwards here...”

"I have scars. More of them- from when Cerberus rebuilt me. I just...don't want you to be surprised."

He studies her face for a moment, then leans in and kisses her again, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue, cupping the side of her face with his free hand, fingers sliding through her hair.

"You've always had scars," he says softly. "I didn't care then, and I don't care now, unless they bother you enough that you don't want me to see them."

"No, I...you hate Cerberus."

"I do," he agrees. "But they did bring you back.”

Stress relief. She didn't realize how much she needed it until now, the careful attention of a lover, the familiar touch she'd thought she lost. He strips off the remainder of her uniform, but if the scars bother him it doesn't show on his face. He pins her against the mattress like she did to him so many years ago, and there's a sudden tingle in her hands. When she looks, she sees the soft blue glow of biotic energy crawling down her arms. It illuminates his face when she looks back at him, on the playful smile, shining in his eyes.

She makes a soft sound of wonder. He's never touched her like that, never let his biotics be used for anything intimate, always afraid to lose control. But the haze of blue caresses her like a second touch, as tender as his own fingers.

“I want to take care of you,” he says, and his voice is low, husky enough to send a shiver through her once again despite their earlier diversion. “I want to be the person you lean on when it gets to be too much.”

“You already are,” she replies, feeling warm all over. And she wants that too, she realizes. To lay her burdens down if only for a moment. To pretend the entire galaxy isn't depending on her. To let him catch her when she falls, keep her moving forward.

“I wasn't there for you before,” he says. “But I want to make up for it. Anything you want, anything you need from me, okay?”

“You're doing good so far,” she says, and he laughs, kisses the corner of her mouth. For a little while, things are good again. For just a little while, she can forget the rest and focus on what it's like to be a normal person not fighting an impossible war.

For a little while, she feels human.

 


	41. Chapter 41

2186 – Perseus Veil

 

“By the way, I like your new armor, Major,” drawls Shepard as she zips up her undersuit. “Really brings out the color of your biotics.”

“That's harassment, Commander,” he replies, struggling to remain stony-faced as he bends to don the heavy shin guards.

“You never complained before,” she replies. “You _liked_ it. But it's fine. I don't need you. I got a big gun of my own these days.”

“Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. Did Cerberus give you robotic arms, or what? That rifle is...impractically large.”

She leers. “It's all in how you use it.”

"I suppose you would know."

A hand flies to her chest and her mouth opens in mock outrage. "Just what are you implying? I'm detecting a bit of _sass_ from you, Major. Do you know what happens to unruly crewmen on my ship?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I do have firsthand knowledge, yes. But I might need a reminder."

“On behalf of everyone on the ship, please stop,” says Joker over the intercom. “Subjecting the rest of us to your awkward flirting is definitely considered a war crime.”

"No one's making you listen," she replies, grinning, and starts locking in the sections of her hardsuit. It's heartening to see her smiling again, to trade jokes like they used to, to mask some of the horrors they face every day with humor.

"Are you going to be okay in that docking tube?" he asks.

"Course. I've got my mag boots. I've checked my oxygen line approximately thirty-seven times. What more do I need?"

But for all her bravado he sees the apprehension in her eyes, the nervous way she shifts her weight from foot to foot as she finishes putting on her gloves. She checks and rechecks his suit seals, and when she puts her helmet on he does the same for her in the same rhythm he used to. Seals. Pressure. Life support. Comms. Oxygen.

He checks oxygen twice.

"I could go instead," he offers. "Just say the word."

"No."

"You don't have to prove anything."

She blinks up at him from under her visor. "Alenko, you know I'd follow that ass of yours anywhere in the galaxy. But I have to handle this for my own sake."

"You are making me ill," complains Joker. "You wanna get a move on, before we get caught?"

Shepard gives Kaidan an affectionate bump with her shoulder. "I'm ready. Heading to the airlock now."

He and Tali wait outside the airlock as she begins her long walk through the docking tube. Her voice is cheery enough when she reports on her progress, but the rapid beat of her heart on his monitors belays her anxiety.

"You okay?" he asks through private communication.

"Never better. A little disoriented, but that's space for you. Would feel a little better with a ship around me, though."

"You're doing great."

"This docking tube has seen better days. All the debris, it kind of reminds me of..."

She trails off. There's an uptick in the rate of her breathing.

"Deep breath, Shepard. We're right here."

“Yeah. I just half expect it to break off altogether.”

“If that happened we'd be right here to help. I've got 150 feet of tether ready to go.”

A small, tight laugh comes over the line. “I'm being silly, aren't I?”

“You're being cautious,” he says soothingly. “Something I'd like you to be more often, actually.”

“Ha. I've been described as many things, mainly negatively, but cautious was never one of them.”

Her pulse and respiration are both elevated still, but remain steady. Talking to her seems to help. It definitely helps him- the experience of monitoring her vitals while she's alone in space is too damn familiar for comfort. Hearing her voice reminds him that it's not an act of desperation, reaching out for her in an empty void where she's beyond his help.

“About halfway there,” she reports. “Might be my imagination, but it's feeling less stable.”

“There is some evidence of shifting,” confirms EDI. “Your weight may be a factor.”

“You're really gonna go there, EDI?” Shepard's laugh is definitely nervous.

“It was merely a comment. Any outside force could conceivably have an effect on the docking tube at this point.”

“And yet the first thought you go to is my weight. Sheesh.”

“You _are_ wearing about fifty pounds of armor, Shepard,” points out Kaidan.

"Alright, alright. Almost there. This is- oh _shit_. We're losing this tube. It's fine. I'm at the door. Shit." Rapid increase in pulse.

"The tube is breaking away," confirms EDI. "We'll need to find one that is more secure."

"I'll get in and find an override," says Shepard. "Don't go too far."

Her voice is strained and her pulse shows no signs of slowing.

"Hang in there," he tells her.

For a moment she doesn't answer. He hears her breathing hard, the sound of her swallowing. "Yeah. Got the override. You should...should be able to dock."

"We'd better hurry," he says to Tali.

They've just set foot on the geth dreadnought when his radio goes silent. For a moment he panics, absent the sound of Shepard breathing, flashing back to that terrible accident years ago. Then he sees her vitals are still present on his monitors, still high but unwavering, and realizes that she must have shut off communications from her end.

So he can't hear her break down.

"Shepard!"

She doesn't reply.

It seems to take ages to get through the docking tube, his eyes on her vitals the entire time. The door to the dreadnought slides open and he sees her standing on the landing above them, bent forward over the control panel.

"Shepard, are you-"

"Everything's fine, Major," she says. Her voice is calm.

Anger courses through him as he climbs up to where she's waiting. "You can't just-"

"Kaidan. Come over here, please."

She switches over to private communication. "You need to stop."

He changes over as well. "You can't just go dead in the middle of a walk. I'm trying to help you."

She fixes him with a stare through the tinted glass of her visor. He can see her face is pale, the sheen of sweat that hasn't dissipated.

"What do you think happens if I lose my shit in the middle of a mission? Right now, this far into the war? What happens to morale?"

"Fuck morale! You don't have to put on a brave face all the time-"

"Yes. I do." Her gloved hand touches his arm. "It's more important now than ever. The eyes of the galaxy are on us. It's a house of cards. If I break down, the Normandy breaks down. If the Normandy breaks down, other ships start catching on, then we start losing those pockets of resistance across the galaxy. The Reapers win. I am not going to start that chain reaction just because a spacewalk got me a little spooked. You think this is the first time I wanted to scream since this began? I've been screaming in my head every goddamn minute since we left Vancouver. If I have to turn off comms to lose it for a minute, well, that's what I have to do."

"You don't deserve to have to hide."

"I deserve a hot tub, an entire pizza and a bottle of whiskey, but that's not exactly in the cards right now," she says wryly. "It's all right, Kaidan. I can keep it together a little longer. And when I can't, that's why I have you."

He can see her smile through her visor. Then she lets go of his arm and switches her comms back to public.

“All right guys. Let's get a move on.”

“Right behind you, Shepard.” _Always._

 


	42. Chapter 42

2186 – Rannoch

 

Rannoch is where Shepard starts to crumble.

Tali isn't quite ready to leave, longing for a few more minutes on the planet she has never seen, so they let her sit a while longer and retreat to the shuttle. Shepard is limping, laughing, smelling of burnt hair from the shockingly close heat of the Reaper beam. Kaidan is decidedly _not_ laughing.

“It was a little worse than Tuchanka's,” she says as she collapses into her seat. Her face is smeared with dirt, her armor scuffed from rolling on the ground. Part of one shoulder is actually _melted_. “I gotta quit doing this.”

“Yeah, I would really appreciate it if you stopped trying to take on Reapers outside the relative safety of a spaceship,” says Kaidan, who is shaking all over. His hands are trembling so badly that he can't even help Shepard out of her armor. She unsnaps the chest plate herself, letting it clatter to the ground, strips off the arm guards and gloves, and settles back in her undersuit from the waist up. “I mean...just...fuck, Shepard. Can you please _not_ get vaporized? It would mean a lot to me.”

Her eyes are glittering with that fanaticism that's so familiar and he can feel her body heat, heightened with adrenaline, see the frantic beat of her pulse in his system readout. He was waiting for it to disappear, for her life signs to blink out again, instantly this time, under the white-hot beam of the Reaper's laser, and his relief is such that he feels sick. Though she isn't a fan of public displays of affection, especially during missions, he sinks to his knees in front of her and wraps his arms around her waist, the beat of her heart comfortingly loud where his head rests against her ribcage. She's shaking too, he realizes- her fingers come to rest in his hair and tremble in time with her buzzing pulse.

“I got caught up in the moment,” she says. “That's all.”

“You called down an orbital strike on a Reaper that was practically on top of you. You fought a Reaper on foot. I don't know what goes through your head sometimes.”

“I did,” she says, and gives that slightly hysterical laugh again. “Aren't you glad you came back to the Normandy? Where else would you get such great entertainment? Where else can you see someone stop a war and negotiate a truce by screaming at them? Where else can you see a Reaper...a...my God...I just...”

She bolts upright, shoves him away and falls to her knees at the doorway to the shuttle, throwing up into the sand.

He crouches next to her, a hand on her back, until she stops heaving. The back of her undersuit is soaked through with sweat, clammy under his fingers. She stays where she is, coughing, then rolls onto her side on the dirty shuttle floor. A sheen of sweat glistens on her face.

“That was one Reaper,” she says hoarsely. “One. I almost got killed to stop one goddamn Reaper out of...what, thousands? I didn't even think. I just...I had to do it. What if I hadn't? What the fuck was I thinking? And for what?”

“You got the geth on our side,” he says. It seems inadequate when she's lying on the ground, wiping her mouth, sweat plastering her hair to her face.

She closes her eyes. “Legion,” she says. “God, I hope this is worth it.”

He pats her armored hip. “If you have to give one life for the sake of the mission...”

“I know.” They both know. It's not a new possibility, but nor is it a comforting one, and neither has forgotten the sacrifices that have brought them this far.

Shepard struggles back into a sitting position. He's long marveled at the power in her body, the lean muscled arms that she folds across the tops of her knees, the strong back and shoulders as she leans forward. Her face is as hard and sharp as it's ever been, more scarred than ever but no less beautiful. What he doesn't remember, though, is the solemn way she regards him now, an unfamiliar anxiety underlying the intensity of her gaze.

“Kaidan, I...don't know if I'm going to make it.”

It's frank and honest and chills him to his core.

“Listen, we'll get through this. We always do.”

But she isn't in the mood for platitudes, he can see that. There's something more behind the brave face she puts on, and he's not sure if he can bear it. Just watching her shake her head, the defeat in her posture, is almost painful.

“If there's a point where you have to take over- Kaidan, listen to me,” she says, because he feels the horror spreading over his face. “If something happens to me, I know you'll do the right thing, like you did before. You'll take care of the crew. Just...don't let all this go to waste, okay? Finish out the war.”

“Try not to let that happen,” he says. “We need you. This is your fight more than anyone else's.”

“One person can't fight this whole war,” she says wearily, lifting herself off the floor.

“You're not fighting it alone,” he says. It's not much, but it brings the ghost of a smile to her face for a moment.

“No,” she says. “But you're right. This is my war. And if I have to sacrifice myself to finish it, I will.”

He knows, as much as he's tried to push it out of his head, that she's right. Any one of them would do the same, but she's the one taking the risks, she's the one putting herself in the crosshairs every day, and she's the one who is both most likely to succeed and most likely to fail.

He knows their time together is short.

Whether it's on her end, on his, on both, he does not know. The odds, however, are against her.

She sits back down on the shuttle seat, another series of dark rings beneath her eyes, another level of sickly pale in her face.

“I don't know what I'd do without you,” he says quietly.

“Don't say that.”

“I mean it.”

She looks up at him with tired eyes, an exasperated affection.

“You'd move on,” she says simply. “Because that's what you would have to do.”

He sits down beside her. She's right- he'd have no choice but to go on, like he did before, return to that life he had for two years, the one that was good and fulfilling and absolutely meaningless without her there.

“Kaidan,” she says. “You'd move on.”

He exhales. “Sure.”

She leans against him, laces her fingers with his as they wait for Tali to return. He studies her profile, the scars that he remembers, the ones he doesn't, that prominent nose, the hard lines of her cheeks and chin. Some part of him, he knows, is trying to commit every detail to memory, for fear of the inevitable, so that he doesn't start forgetting her again.

 

-

 

The staggering loss on Thessia strikes another blow to Shepard's mental state.

"We're so close," she says to herself. She's collapsed on her bed, her face still streaked with sweat and dirt, her armor stripped away and scattered across the floor. The door is locked and she's ignoring the multiple pings on her omni-tool, unwilling to talk to anyone. She imagines Liara is doing likewise.

_We've all suffered this_ , she thinks. _Earth. Palaven. Rannoch. Thessia._

Her shoulders aren't sturdy enough to carry all of this weight, even with the armor.

All of the deaths add up to numbers she can't comprehend now, more and more each day, and she's so tired and numb that she can barely move but so many more are depending on her. When she closes her eyes she sees the gunship, feels the ground collapse under her feet, the struggle to drag herself back up, the panicked voices of the asari as the Reapers bore down on them and her utter inability to do a thing about it.

She misses Ashley, suddenly and fiercely. Ash was the first, her first loss, the first one that was her fault, the one she still thinks about every time she hears about another death. It's her face that Shepard still sees, her voice still echoing in Shepard's ears, a frank and cruel reminder that she still can't save everyone, no matter how hard she tries.

There's a tap at her door. She flicks it open with a jab of her omni-tool.

She already knows it's Kaidan, he's the only one who would dare show up at her door unannounced, and she's proven right when the bed sinks on one side under his weight.

"Hey," he says. "How are you doing?"

"Thinking about Ash," she says honestly, and feels him shift on the bed, stretch out next to her.

"I met her family, you know," he says. "Really good people."

"No surprise there. When did you meet them?"

"A few months after you...after we lost the Normandy. You'd like them."

"I wish she was here."

He's quiet for a while. "You can't blame yourself for what happened on Thessia. You can't blame yourself for any of this."

She doesn't reply. He just doesn't understand. If she'd tried harder, fought the Council, convinced the Alliance earlier...

"Ash shouldn't have died," she says finally.

"No," he agrees. "But that wasn't your fault either."

He doesn't touch her- knows she doesn't want to be touched, but his presence is enough, for now. He's waiting on her, waiting for her to invite him closer, invite him in, allow him the attempt to make her feel better. For now she prefers the pain of blaming herself, cutting herself again and again on the razor-sharp edge of that pain, like maybe she deserves it, maybe she didn't try hard enough...

“I'm tired,” she says. “I'm so fucking tired.”

“I know.”

It's not the sort of exhaustion that could be cured by sleep. It runs deeper, emotional and physical and mental, and just a night of uninterrupted sleep wouldn't put a dent in it. She feels ready to come apart at the seams, a broken vase glued inexpertly back together, weak in the cracks, never strong as she once was. If she slept for a year she doubts it would have an effect at this point.

“Let's talk about something else,” he suggests. “Let's talk about...”

He trails off. She understands: there's not much to talk about that doesn't involve the war. It's a permanent fact of life now, inescapable, pervading into every corner of their lives, even the few minutes of relaxation they manage to grab once in a while. Regardless, she appreciates his attempt.

“Talk to me about us, then,” she says.

“Us? What about us?”

"Just...lie to me a little, okay Alenko? Tell me everything's going to be all right. Tell me we'll get through this and spend the rest of our lives together til we're too old to remember our own names. Tell me what we'll do when this is all over, tell me where we'll retire to, tell me our kids' names. Just tell me _something_."

He huffs a laugh. "Okay. Everything will be all right. We'll get through this. We'll win the war and go into the history books as heroes."

"That's a good start," she mumbles into the pillow.

"We'll have earned a break, I hope."

"Another week in a Citadel hotel?" she asks.

"A month, at least, but that's later. As soon as our boots hit the ground on Earth, I'll propose. My great-grandmother's ring. We'll be surrounded by people welcoming us home, on every channel in the galaxy, and you'll hate it, being the center of attention, but you'll say yes anyway."

She laughs, just a little, and rolls over to snug herself against his side. With that encouragement, he slides an arm around her shoulders. He's always so warm, a comforting presence that lifts her spirits in the darkest times, even if only slightly. She's not sure she would be coping nearly as well if he weren't beside her. "Of course. And the wedding will be...?"

"I'm thinking Casbin."

"Casbin. That'll be...a little warm," she says, remembering the near boiling temperature on the planet. "Space suit wedding. Romantic."

"Under a meteor shower, yeah. It'll start a trend."

"Right." It's actually not the worst idea, she thinks, picturing the quiet moment they shared there together, under the light-streaked sky. It's the first time in a long time she's thought of the future, about what could be. About what comes after. It's a hope, sure, more than a hope, maybe a distant dream, but she thinks about it nonetheless in these small hours, when the person she loves is lying beside her, the distance between them finally closed. He shifts, turns to look at her with soft eyes.

"And then kids. We'll have five, all named after the original ground crew of the Normandy. Garrus, Liara, Tali, Wrex, and Ash."

She chuckles. "Only five kids? Come on. We can't leave out Joker. We'll never hear the end of it."

"Six, then."

"And Anderson."

"Well, what's one more? Seven."

"Hell. How are we going to support seven kids?"

"Plus four or so dogs. And I fully expect that if you pull this off, the Alliance will pay you to pass your genes on, so there's your support. At the very least you'll be pulling in an admiral's salary."

"Seven kids and four dogs. You put some serious thought into this. Keep dreaming. We could never afford that. I expect a thanks and a hearty pat on the back from the Alliance, and that's if I'm lucky.”

He's quiet for a while, stroking her hair. Above them, through the skylight, stars flash by, cold and distant.

"I do want all of that, Shepard," he says finally, and his voice cracks. "Jokes aside, I want marriage and kids and a normal life when this is all over, and even though I have the greatest faith in you I can't help but hate how unfair it is that we'll probably never have any of it."

"We got more than a lot of people did," she points out.

"I don't care. Call me selfish. I want more than sharing an hour with you between missions, more than bunking together on a starship, more than wondering every day if we're going to live or die. I want _you_."

Her chest aches. "You're not selfish," she says. "I want that, too."

“Yeah?”

She does. More than she ever thought she would. Sure, now and again she'd let herself daydream about it, what it would be like to have a normal life with him, to be a normal person who doesn't face death every day. Privately she'd pictured them living in a little house somewhere far from this, somewhere quiet and snug, sometimes with kids, sometimes without.

If she could walk away right now without any consequence, take him by the hand and never look back, well, she wouldn't have to consider it for very long.

But there is no option to do so. There never will be. The logical part of her knows that, knows that she'll never be a wife and mother, knows she won't be anything other than a soldier. It's a future that doesn't exist for her.

But God, does she want it.

“Of course I do. But right now we have to take what we can get. You have me now, in this moment. Whatever the future holds, it can't change what we have now.”

He sighs, pulls her closer. She buries her face in his neck, fingers skimming over the tense muscles in his back. Lying here like this, it's almost enough to forget about what it still yet to come.

But not quite. She thinks of everyone who didn't get even this quiet moment, a few minutes of rest in a lover's arms, all of those poor souls on Thessia and Palaven and Earth who lost even something as small as this, and the ones who are still suffering even while she dares to take that soft moment for herself.

And it nags at her, puts a shadow over the quietly growing hope inside of her. Even after he's fallen asleep, she remains awake, rubbing circles into his shoulders, wondering how many more minutes they have together, hating to spend any of that precious time asleep.

It's a countdown, a race against time where she doesn't know any of the numbers, but knows they are fewer than she'd like. She knows they're running out, and fast.

 


	43. Chapter 43

2187 - Earth

 

She says goodbye while he's bleeding, her gloved hands touching him all over as if to soothe his wounds, over the broken armor. He would go with her, would force her to take him with her if he could move, but his left leg crumples under him when he tries to walk and he falls heavily into her shoulder. Blood runs into his eyes from a cut on his forehead and the harsh lights of explosions and gunfire throw shadows across Shepard's face and the pain reflected there. Behind her is the blue light of the conduit and he feels it pulling her away; magnetic and irresistible.

There's so much _noise_. She screams into her radio for the Normandy, helping him sit up, Garrus on his other side, supporting him. Her face is spattered with blood too, her eyes panicked and desperate. He knows he's hurt, and badly, but the physical pain means nothing to the anguish of what he knows will happen.

"I'm fine," he tries to tell her, but she's not stupid. And he knows the best he can do is to limp behind her and draw the Reaper fire to himself, and she won't let him do that.

She won't let him hold her back, either.

He clutches at her arms, her shoulders. Her words are drowned out by the roar of the Reaper, chilling to the bone, sending vibrations through his teeth.

She's utterly magnificent, a fearless goddess, an unstoppable warrior. He tries to tell her but neither can hear a thing, lips moving in the darkness but saying nothing. Of all the times she's stood over him, hands dark with blood, fury wrapped in fifty pounds of armor, he's never loved her more.

"Shepard, please."

"I have to go," she says. "This is our only shot. Garrus, can you get him to the ship? He needs the medbay."

He hears Garrus say something affirmative. They're still sheltered in the shadow of the Mako and it's improbably funny. He remembers their first time out in the Mako, years ago, the way Shepard learned to use it as a battering ram. Was that really three years ago?

"Just like when we first started out," he says. "The Mako." Shepard looks at him bleakly, then breaks into a smile that looks like she's going to cry. The ground shudders beneath them.

"I have to go," she says again.

He knows.

"Please don't. Please don't leave me. You said you'd never leave me behind."

"I'll come back," she says, and her voice cracks. "I've always come back."

He _knows_.

"Shepard."

The Normandy arrives with a sound like thunder. Shepard's eyes are bright with tears.

She's not coming back.

"Come on," she says, pulling his arm over her shoulder.

So much of it blurs as she and Garrus haul him to the ship, the noise is unbearable and the pain even more so, building into a dizzying migraine. But when he reaches out to her, that final time, and she touches his face, he knows he'll never forget the agony of that goodbye no matter how long he lives. It will always be crystal clear and sharp as a knife to the gut. Her glove is cold, her breath is hot, her voice is choked.

“Whatever happens, know that I love you. Always.”

“I love you, too,” he says. It seems inadequate to sum up his feelings for her, everything he loves about her, everything they had together, but it's all he has time to say. Her eyes linger on his, washed out in the hard light of the conduit beam, her mouth twists but doesn't quite break because she can't let it break, not now.

And then she lets go.

She looks over her shoulder, once. The shuttle bay door is closing before he can even see if she reaches the beam.

And she takes his heart with her.

 

-

 

No one asks the question.

When Hackett gives the order to disengage, when the point of the Citadel begins to glow with an eerie light, no one asks who is going to go after Shepard.

And a part of Kaidan knew that. Knew that her retreating figure into the thin finger of light was the last time he would see her, his last glimpse of the woman he loves, off to save the day again and never coming back.

But it's so much harder than he expected when Joker pauses at the controls, just for a moment, and they stare at the rapidly brightening dot of light.

Everything is hazy. Tali is trying desperately to pull him to the medbay, but for all her urging he knows she wants to be here too, to watch the ending play out. The end of the war, the end of their commander. Triumph mixed with agony. He spits a mouthful of blood but doesn't move from the console.

"Damn it," says Joker softly. He doesn't ask the question either.

"All units disengage now," orders Hackett again. The point of light is growing: the Crucible is activating and whatever happens, they don't want to be around when it fires. If it was possible for Joker to physically interact with the Normandy's controls Kaidan is sure he would be slamming his fist against the console.

This time there are no life signs to monitor. She is too far away, and their hardsuits were damaged badly in their last run for the beam. There is no radio contact, no way for the signals to reach between the ship and the Citadel. He pictures her watching from the Presidium, maybe, watching them disappear, watching them leave her behind, and as much as it burns in his chest it's not as bad as the alternative.

And then Joker's hands are flying over the interfaces again.

"We'll come back for her," he says. "We're the quickest in the fleet- we'll come back."

It's desperation, and they all know it, as the ship's acceleration kicks in and the stars turn to a blur, but none of them say a word.

"The medbay," says Tali. "Please, Kaidan."

Arguing would take too much energy. He lets Tali take him by the arm and lead him out of the cockpit only because he can't sit down and fold in on himself in front of all of them. He lets his mind go numb because it's so, so much easier than confronting the reality, and because by now he's used to it.

They're halfway across the crew deck when the ship begins to rock. Crashes echo from the kitchen, chairs skid across the tiled floor. The two of them hit the door hard as the ship bounces sickeningly. Chakwas bursts out of her office to help, and she and Tali hurry him into the medbay just as Joker's voice blares over the intercom.

"All hands brace for impact!"

Chakwas grabs one of the cots bolted to the deck. Tali hits the ground and Kaidan falls over her, throwing an arm and a barrier up to shield them both from a rain of medical supplies. When the crash comes, he's barely aware of it.

 


	44. Chapter 44

2187 - SSV Normandy -???

 

"Major, I...I'm sorry to wake you, but..."

Kaidan winces, runs a hand over his face, the familiar pounding springing to life behind his eyes. For a change of pace, his entire left side feels like he was thrown into a brick wall. If staying on this cot forever was an option, he'd take it, but doing that would be letting her down.

She gave her all, her everything. He can't let her down now.

He rises with effort, clutching his ribs, to meet the eyes of an overwrought Dr. Chakwas.

"She didn't make it, did she?" he asks heavily. He already knows the answer, sees it writ large over her face.

"No," she whispers. She clears her throat, tries to compose herself. "And as the ranking officer...there's a situation. Joker needs to see you."

"I understand. Can I...just have a moment...?"

"Of course."

She retreats, closing the door to the medbay behind her, and he takes a deep breath.

"It's just like before," he tells himself. "Deal with the problems first. Don't dwell on it until everything else is taken care of."

And how well that worked out last time.

I'll be waiting for you. You'd better show up.

"Goddamn you, Shepard," he mutters, pressing a hand to his eyes. "I almost believed you."

He chokes back the tears, forces down the sickness and the anger and the grief. Save it for later. Just like last time. Just like every time. It's harder now but he manages to swallow down the emotion, focusing on the biting pain of his injuries to clear his mind. Chakwas has repaired the visible damage to his leg, bandaged his cuts, but there is more under the surface, he's sure. It doesn't really matter.

When he limps out of the medbay two minutes later, his face is blank, jaw set, eyes clear.

"Major," says Joker tonelessly when he enters the cockpit. "We have some major problems. First, in case you were too unconscious to notice, we crash landed on a planet that I have no way to identify. Second, EDI is offline, and while that sucks in a lot of ways, mostly for me, that makes it especially tough to figure out where the hell we are. Third, comms are also offline, so that leaves us stranded with no hope of rescue, wherever we are. And fourth, we have no way to assess how badly damaged the ship is until we can verify that going outside won't, you know, kill us all, and I think I mentioned there is no way to know that because I have no goddamn idea where we are."

Kaidan rubs the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me there's some good news in all of this."

"Well, we aren't dead, so there's something." He pauses. "I mean, once we get back and she sees the ship, Shepard is going to kill us all, starting with me, so I guess that's not the best news."

Silence stretches between them.

"I don't...Joker, I don't think she..." he begins, though it will tear him apart to say it aloud, cut right through his emotionless soldier facade.

"She's fine," says Joker dismissively. "Probably cussing us up and down for being absent at her victory party."

"I...okay," says Kaidan finally. He doesn't want to argue. Can't handle the consequences of arguing, not now. Not yet. "All life support is functional?"

"We'd have noticed by now if it wasn't."

"Great. Call Tali up to take a look at EDI, once we have her back online we can assess our position and get the comms back. I'll take a small party out in the hardsuits to check damage to the hull. Tell Adams to run a full diagnostic, I want to know what's working and what's not."

“Aye, aye.”

As Joker returns to work, Kaidan glances back at him. He's taking everything a little too well, a stark contrast to the aftermath of Alchera. Whether it's blind hope in Shepard's uncanny ability to escape certain death or the unraveling of the worn and frayed seams holding the pilot together, Kaidan doesn't know. What he does know is this: they need Joker. And if Joker needs something to hold onto, he's not going to take that away.

 

-

 

“It's not great news, but it's not the worst news,” says Adams, pointing out a dozen glaring spots of red on the holographic map of the ship. “She took heavy damage, but it's fixable. The CBT took the brunt of the hit, so the shielding is mostly intact with the exception of three minor breaches and some cosmetic wear and tear. We're down one antiproton thruster, which will throw us off balance if we can't fix it and slow our travel time by twenty-five percent. The stealth systems are offline and we lost most of the sensors with EDI. The drive core is what I'm worried about. An abrupt shutdown like what happened in that crash could have overloaded some of the more delicate connections, and without a working sensor it'll be hard to tell.”

Kaidan doesn't understand the majority of the issues, but trusts that Adams knows what needs to be done to fix them. “What do we do about the breaches?”

“Someone will have to patch them from the outside. We have a lot of extra supplies, so assuming there's no other hazards to worry about, it shouldn't be a tough job. Shepard upgraded the shielding a couple of years ago, so...”

He cuts himself off and clears his throat. “The upgraded shielding kept us safe. The original Normandy couldn't have taken that hit. If the drive core is intact and we're within reasonable range of a mass relay, we should have little problem getting back to Earth.”

“I have Tali working on EDI,” says Kaidan. “I'll take Garrus and Vega out to look at the hull. In the meantime, do what you can with the drive core if it's safe for the crew.”

“Weirdest thing,” says Adams. “There's not much that could send the Normandy down like that. I thought it was a glancing blow from a Reaper at first.”

“Whatever Sh- whatever happened on the Citadel created a pulse that knocked us out of space.”

“Hell of a pulse. Didn't we hit a relay prior? Nothing should have followed us through.”

“Don't know. I don't think we did, we weren't in range.”

“Then we can't be more than a month and a half out from Earth, assuming we don't get the thruster fixed. Less if we have her in good enough shape for constant FTL, but that might be pushing it until we know where we can discharge the drive charge.”

“We'll figure it out. Prioritize safety over travel time. We'll get back eventually.”

 

-

 

Viable atmosphere, his suit chirps. He takes the helmet off and gazes into the distance. The air is fresh, crisp. The planet is wild and empty and beautiful besides the damage where the Normandy skimmed the treetops and came to a stop. It's sunset, two large moons coming into visibility. He thinks about Casbin, about the fiery skies, the lush greenery, Shepard's fingers brushing against his.

“She looks rough,” says Garrus, and Kaidan turns to see him inspecting the hull. There are scrapes along the finish, yes, a panel peeled back halfway down the side. A chunk is missing from one of the wings.

“Turning on cameras,” he says. “Adams, are you seeing this?”

“Good to go, Major.”

“Joker?”

“I see it.”

“Look for any identifying markers if you can,” says Kaidan, angling the camera at the sky, at the moons and the stars just starting to appear. “You should still have access to a star chart database. If you can find out where we are it would be a start. I'll do a once-over of the ship so we can identify the places that need repaired.”

“You might want to address the crew when you're done,” says Joker. “They're a little antsy, what with the war and the crash landing and all.”

“You can address them.”

“I think they'd prefer to hear from the commanding officer.”

_Wouldn't we all,_ he thinks, but Joker's right. He's in charge now, whether he likes it or not, and it's his job to talk to the crew. He doesn't look forward to it, but it's necessary. Shepard would expect it of him.

He looks back out into the distance. It's not a planet he recognizes, and he doesn't even know which direction they traveled. They could be anywhere.

But they're alive, and that's more than he can say for some.

 


	45. Chapter 45

2187 - SSV Normandy - ???

 

It was always a possibility that he would end up here, he thinks, glancing around the room at the solemn faces staring back at him. It wasn't a possibility he liked to dwell on, but the fact remains that the ship needs a leader and Shepard is not available.

The conference room is too small to hold the entire crew, so he addresses them in the mess instead. Their expressions vary, but worry and grief hold the majority. He avoids the teary eyes and trembling mouths, focuses on the wall behind them, gripping the back of a chair to support his weight.

"So there's good news and bad news," he says. "First and foremost, we have reason to believe that the Crucible worked as intended. If that's true, then we came out on top, and the galaxy has every one of you to thank for that. Your dedication, your sacrifices were all part of what it took to bring down the Reapers. No one could ask for a better crew. If Shepard were here...” he pauses, swallows hard, “well, she'd be giving a hell of a better speech than I am, that's for sure.

“Unfortunately, as much as you've all earned a well-deserved break, we have a situation with the ship. The crash knocked out a lot of crucial systems and there is a lot of damage to be repaired before we can get the Normandy back into space. We have the parts, we have the know-how, but we don't have the manpower, so everyone will have to pitch in where they can. It's not a hostile planet, and we're set on supplies, so while it is an emergency situation, there's no reason to think we won't depart safely.

“I know this is a difficult time for all of you,” he continues, “but we're soldiers. We have to press on, get the job done, and once we get back home there will be time for...”

He bites back the word “grieving”, unable to vocalize it, but Joker cuts in on the intercom to finish the sentence for him.

“Celebrating,” says Joker. “Even if we're missing all the good parties back on Earth right now.”

“Right,” says Kaidan. A few half-hearted smiles break out among the crew. “So get a good night's sleep and we'll tackle this thing in the morning. Dismissed.”

The crew disperses and Kaidan lets out a shaky sigh. He knows he should have given a statement about Shepard's likely death, but admitting it out loud would be like giving in. He's not ready to give in, even if he knows in his heart that there's little chance she survived.

“I'd be happy to take first watch,” says a voice to his left. Liara. He didn't realize she was still there.

“It's fine,” he replies, lowering himself gingerly onto a seat. Everything hurts and the beginning of a headache lingers between his eyes. “Vega said he would handle it. How are you holding up?”

“As well as can be expected. I feel I should be asking you that question. Garrus said you took a hard hit. Are you all right?”

“No,” he admits, “but it doesn't matter. Until we get this ship back to Earth, I can't think about it.”

There is too much understanding in the way she looks at him.

“She would be proud of you,” she says. He doesn't miss the past tense.

“So you think she's...”

“I don't see any way she could have survived,” says Liara slowly, gently, blinking at the floor to hide the moisture building in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

“The best we can do is to honor her memory by bringing the ship and her crew home again. You should rest.”

He wants to. His body is all but screaming for him to sleep, but all his clothes and possessions are in Shepard's cabin and he doesn't think he can go in there just yet. His eyes slide past Liara to the elevator and hers follow. Clever as she is, it's not a stretch for her to read his mind.

“I can go up with you, if you like,” she says softly.

He nods, unable to say anything to express his gratitude.

The room is in shambles thanks to their rough landing. Model ships sit in a jumble at the bottom of their display case, last night's glasses and half-empty bottle of whiskey are halfway across the room on the floor. Datapads have slid from the desktop to nest under the bed with last night's clothes. But it's still hers- it smells like her, the scent of her hair and the nape of her neck where he rests his chin when he's pressed against her from behind, the clean detergent smell of her clothes. Liara stands respectfully in the doorway while he gathers a clean uniform from the dresser and the sight of his clothes folded neatly beside Shepard's nearly drives him into despair.

“I don't know if I can do this,” he says. “I lost her once. I can't...I can't do it again.”

A hand on his shoulder. “You're strong,” Liara says. “It will be hard. But we're all beside you. And...you aren't the only one who loved her.”

“I'm not the only one she loved, either,” he replies, and her smile is sad but appreciative.

“She did have an exceptionally strong rapport with her crew.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed while Liara lingers near the desk. He thinks of all her reports left unfinished. All of everything left unfinished. They had spoken of the future, sure, but underneath it all they had both known their time together was short. No matter how much affection they had packed into these few short months, it would never be enough. He wishes he had joined her earlier, hadn't fought with her on Horizon, had thrown everything up in the air to be with her again, taken the chance to have those precious few extra moments with her...

“Kaidan,” says Liara suddenly, “there's a note here for you.”

He looks up. The asari is holding a folded sheet of paper in her fingers, actual paper, retrieved from under the desk. He crosses the room and takes it. His name is written on the outside in Shepard's untidy scrawl. When had she gotten the time to write this, he wonders?

Curiosity and dread war with each other, and the former wins out. He reads:

 

_Kaidan,_

 

_Here's hoping you never have to read this, that I get back before you do and manage to toss it, but in case you are and I'm not around, I want you to know I don't regret a moment we shared together. That first year on the Normandy was the best of my life, and you were by my side the whole time. We saw the galaxy together, all the beauty of the universe like it was made for just the two of us. Racing across those empty planets in the Mako, all jokes about my driving not withstanding, was an experience a dumb colony kid like me never could have imagined._

_And I never expected to find a man like you. I wasn't looking for love when we met, wasn't sure I could bring myself to care so deeply for another person again, let alone fall in love. Sometimes I wonder what you were thinking when you came to me that night before Ilos. I could say it all again, tell you how much I love you, how I've loved you for ages, but you know that. We've said everything we needed to say to each other. If we'd only had more time together, I'd have nothing to complain about, but I guess I could never have enough time with you. Every extra minute would leave me wanting one more._

_I know you'll take care of the crew and the ship. I only have one favor to ask you, and that's to find my body. If I'm dead, I don't want to be brought back again. Find my body, have it cremated. If you can, scatter the ashes above Alchera and Virmire and Mindoir so I can be back where I belong. Don't let me become anything worse than Cerberus has already made me. Don't let the Alliance put me on display like some kind of martyr._

_And don't mourn me. You've already mourned, you lost two years of your life doing it. Don't waste another two years on me. Know that I did what I had to do. Know that giving my life for this cause is the greatest honor I could hope for. Know that if there's anything on the other side, I'll be waiting there for you, and if not, we loved hard enough to make up for it. This is a journey I make alone, this is where our paths diverge, and I wouldn't have it any other way._

_Take care, Major._

_All my love,_

_Shepard_

 

Wordlessly, he hands the note to Liara and sinks onto the bed again. A small noise escapes her before she covers her mouth, tears dripping down her face. When she returns the note he folds it and slips it between his harness and uniform shirt, against his heart. Liara sits next to him, wraps her slim arms around him and leans against his shoulder.

 

 


	46. Chapter 46

2187 - Vancouver

March

 

For a long time, everything is dark. Voices wind their way in now and again, voices she doesn't know, although they mainly seem to be saying the same thing: "Holy shit, is that Shepard?"

She is vaguely aware that she is in a hospital. Important-sounding terms are tossed back and forth out of reach of her confused mind, meaningless but worrying. Ashley's voice repeats them in whispers:

_bleeding into her brain_

_implants have failed_

_partial or full paralysis_

It's easier to retreat into the calming darkness than to piece the information together into a coherent picture, but slowly she emerges back into the painful world of the living. At first it's minutes at a time, tired eyes taking in a hospital room surrounding her, a window full of real sky instead of stars. Figures move around her, soft voices speak to her, ask her to perform simple tasks. _Blink twice if you can hear me_ \- she blinks. _Squeeze my hand_ \- she squeezes. _Do you remember your name?_

“Shepard,” she whispers, and sleep takes her again. Her dreams are full of fire, the bone-chilling sound of Reapers drowning out the screams of civilians. The Normandy goes up in flames, lanced in half by a white-hot beam. Ash's voice melts into Anderson's, _your fault, your fault._

Eventually she wakes long enough to make sense of her surroundings. She's in a hospital, therefore she must be injured. She can see the sky through the window, therefore she must be on Earth. How and why she is there do not come as easily. Then she sees the dark-haired woman standing over her bed and a sick dread fills her stomach.

"Shepard? Can you hear me?"

A different voice. A different face. She's torn between relief that it's not Ashley standing there and fear that she's back where she started.

"What year is it this time?" she croaks, and Miranda laughs, relief evident in her smile.

"It's only been a few weeks, don't worry. You're not reliving that particular nightmare. Although if you were, you'd look a hell of a lot better right now. We did a much better job of stitching you up."

Miranda, too, has looked better. She's still beautiful, there's no getting around that, but her perfect face is tired and lined with worry, her dark hair pulled into a half-hearted ponytail. In a soft sweater and dark slacks, she could almost be a different person.

"I'm relieved," she says. "You took a lot of damage, and I wasn't sure I could do much with the resources available. Evidently you were so combative when they brought you in, they had to sedate you."

Once again, Shepard is slow to remember, like crawling her way out of a vat of molasses.

"A few weeks?" she asks.

"Twenty-four days since they pulled you off the Citadel. Twenty-four days since you beat them, Shepard. I don't know what you did, but you beat them."

“We won?” repeats Shepard in a whisper.

“We won,” confirms Miranda. “What happened up there?”

“I don't...” She glances around her. The hospital room is empty besides the two of them, filled with the whisper-soft sounds of machines, most of which are attached to her in one way or another. Outside the window, the sky is gray and still, no shuttles swooping through or ships coming in to dock. The quiet is unnerving after weeks, months crammed full of gunfire and explosions and screaming.

Then it hits her with staggering force. _The Citadel. The war. The Crucible._ She hears the machine next to her spike as her pulse and breathing rise; she leans over the edge of the bed and heaves but there is nothing in her stomach to come up. A nurse rushes in, ushers Miranda out of the way, and does something to the IV line. Everything goes black and fuzzy for a moment, and when she refocuses her body is heavy and light at the same time. She swallows. Miranda is still there but the nurse is gone.

“Miranda,” she says softly, “where's my crew?”

Worry briefly creases the space between two perfect eyebrows.

“I need you to stay calm,” she says, and Shepard's pulse immediately skyrockets again, the machine directly to her right beeping intensely to match it. “You're not out of the woods yet, and if you get yourself worked up it's going to set back your recovery. And the hospital will kick me out.”

“For the love of God, Miranda!” She's very aware of the crack in her voice. When she tries to sit up, Miranda lays a restraining hand on her shoulder. The heart monitor accelerates rapidly.

“The Normandy is MIA,” Miranda says quietly. “As far as we know, all of the crew, save you, were on board. It's not the worst news,” she adds quickly as Shepard pales and her shoulders slump. “They're searching. No debris has been found, that's a good sign. They might have just jumped to another relay.”

“Then why aren't they back yet?” asks Shepard through clenched teeth. “You said it's been weeks. They wouldn't...they would come back for me.”

“When the Crucible fired and destroyed the Reapers, it also did something to the mass relays,” explains Miranda. “They're damaged. No ships can pass through. Repairs are in progress, but all the ships trapped in the Sol system have to be attended to first.”

"I have to find them." She tries to sit up again, but lightheadedness forces her down. “How bad are my injuries?”

“You're not going anywhere for a long time,” Miranda says, alarmed. “My God, Shepard. You can't just wake up out of a coma and charge out of here.”

“I did it once before.”

“Back when we had resources. You're in good hands here, Shepard, but frankly, the only reason you're alive is because of who you are. Any other soldier found in your condition wouldn't have made it through triage. All the implants we fitted you with are dead. Luckily most of them were only there to hold over until your body could regenerate, but you needed major reconstruction. You have a fracture in your skull, major spinal damage, broken ribs, extensive burns, both legs broken, your left wrist is shattered...I could go on, but my point is that you can't even walk right now, let alone commandeer a ship to search for your crew.”

“I feel fine,” protests Shepard, but her eyes travel down the hospital bed finally, finding Miranda's words to be true. What little of her skin she can see is withered and pale instead of taut and tan. Her left arm is encased in a cast and her right is swathed in bandages.

“You're on a lot of painkillers,” says Miranda kindly. “We'll be weaning you off them now that you're awake.”

“How long will I be stuck here?”

“For the foreseeable future.” There is something hesitant in her voice. “You won't...you can't expect to regain your former body's full potential.”

Shepard has heard enough bullshit in her life to sift out the lies of omission. A horrific thought strikes her.

“What are you not telling me here? I'll be able to walk again, right?”

“I think so, yes. You'll need physical therapy once everything heals, and I don't expect your mobility to be affected much. But you'll need additional surgeries to even come close to your pre-war strength, specialists and special equipment, and with medical care spread so thin, I don't see any way that will happen for years, at least. A hardsuit, or that massive sniper rifle you were so fond of, are out of the question. I don't think you'll even make the minimums for basic Alliance training.”

Every word is like another rock crashing down on her shoulders, overburdening her already weakened body. She slumps against the cot.

“So you woke me up to tell me my crew is fucking gone and I've got to lay helpless in a cot until I can hobble around long enough to officially lose my job? What was the fucking point, Miranda? Why bother dragging me out of the fucking rubble?”

“You're a lot of things, Commander,” says Miranda quietly, “but helpless is not one of them. You know the worst case scenario, now it's up to you to rail against it and find a way to win like you always do.”

“Just...leave. Just fucking go.” She turns away and doesn't open her eyes until she hears Miranda's footsteps and the soft sound of the door closing behind her. Outside the window, the sky is blue and empty, and inside Shepard is alone.

Okay. There's no need to panic. She takes a deep breath and tries to gather her thoughts. The problem is, while she had certainly hoped she would survive the battle, she'd always assumed the Normandy would be there with her, and its absence leaves her cold. She'd counted on seeing her crew's relieved smiles, on hearing their shaky laughter, their admonishments of “I can't believe you actually did that.” She'd counted on finally, finally having time to spend with Kaidan, free from worrying about the galaxy falling apart around them. Sure, she knew there was a chance she wouldn't make it back. She just never thought she would be the one waiting on him.

Weariness threatens to pull her under again as she struggles to sit up. Her body is sluggish and slow to respond. She eases the sheet back with her right hand and looks down at her oddly pale legs. When she tries to move one, it does not respond.

Fine. She can deal with this.

Her leg is dead weight but her arm still works, and she's just pushing the limb off the bed, inch by inch, when the door opens again. The nurse takes one look at her and rushes over just as her foot hits the floor. She has a moment to register the cold tile under her foot before the nurse manhandles her back into the bed.

“Commander Shepard, you can't get out of bed!” the woman scolds her, and either she's abnormally strong or Shepard really is that weak, because before she knows it she's firmly back on her cot and the nurse is tucking the sheets around her again. “Miss Lawson said you just regained consciousness, you're in no shape to be going anywhere.”

“I have work to do,” protests Shepard, but the nurse shakes her head.

“The only work you'll be doing for the next few weeks is knitting your bones back together,” she says severely as she plunges a syringe into the IV line, and suddenly her idea is a lot more appealing.

Time swirls again as she drifts off. Ashley is leaning over her bed.

“You should have listened to me,” she says.

 


	47. Chapter 47

2187 - SSV Normandy - ???

 

 

If the Normandy was quiet when it was in space, humming gently through the emptiness between stars and planets, it's like a war zone now. The constant drone of voices, of metal on metal, of systems beeping and alarms buzzing, is almost nonstop throughout the daylight hours. Kaidan has a low throb in his head almost all the time, walking through the ship to check progress on the repairs.

"You needed to see me?"

Tali's bright eyes blink behind her semi-opaque visor. "Yes, I wanted to talk to you for a moment. It's about EDI."

He'd guessed that. The drive core is open and she's sitting on the metal grating, surrounded by parts and tools, scraps of metal and bits of electronics that he has only the faintest idea of their purpose. And then there's the robot body itself, polished and gleaming, humanlike in appearance but uncannily still, the dead body of something that was never really alive. It still gives him an odd feeling in his stomach, remembering how the robotic body snatched him off the ground as if he weighed nothing and tried its best to bash his head in.

"What's going on?"

"I have no idea," she replies grimly, frustration evident in her voice. "There's nothing wrong with the platform- it's in perfect working order. She kept it upgraded and performed routine maintenance like...well, like you would expect from a synthetic. There's no reason it should have stopped working, and even if it did, EDI's main processors are located in the ship itself, so there's nothing that could have happened to this body that could have affected her. So whatever happened to her has to do with the ship. But the ship wasn't damaged badly enough to affect her, either. It's like she just...disappeared." She hesitates. "I have a theory. When Shepard activated the crucible, it targeted not only the Reapers, but any Reaper technology."

"Makes sense," he agrees. "And we know Cerberus made use of Reaper tech when they built her."

"Right. But she was a full AI even before then. We met her on Luna, remember? I...borrowed some of Cerberus's data on her," she admits sheepishly. "I think I can restore some functionality."

But her nervous hand-wringing says there's more to it than that.

"If all Reaper tech was wiped out, does that include the geth that upgraded with Reaper code?"

"I think so, yes," says Tali sadly. "After all the geth did to help against the Reapers, it seems cruel to leave them like that. Whether my people will choose to repair them, whether the Council will allow it, I don't know.”

“Would you allow it?”

“That's...not my decision to make. Thankfully.”

“But this is,” he realizes. “I see.”

“I know she helped us. She was part of the crew. But for me to restart her...I'm essentially doing what my ancestors did, the same thing that lost us our planet. Giving life to an AI.”

“It's okay to be conflicted,” he says. “I won't force you to make a decision you're uncomfortable with.”

“Shepard was good with those decisions,” she says with a sigh. “She always knew what to do.”

“Yeah. She did.”

“Kee'lah, I miss her. Sorry. I know the two of you were...well, sorry.”

“It's all right. You can talk about her. I can handle it.” For now. “If you want my opinion, we owe it to EDI to try and help. She's never been anything but helpful. And from a more callous standpoint, we could use her to get home.”

“What do you think Shepard would say?”

Kaidan hesitates. “She...God, you know her. I think she would do it, Tali.”

Tali tosses the piece of metal in her hands aside and gets to her feet. “You're right. Shepard would do it. I'll restart her. I'll try to restart her.”

 

-

 

“The nurses are not very complimentary about you,” says Miranda. “They asked me to speak to you- well, warn you, that they really don't want to have to sedate you again, given their depleted stock of sedatives, but if you don't stop causing a scene, they will.”

“I am not causing a scene,” replies Shepard. “I was very polite when I asked them to leave me the fuck alone.”

“You threw a datapad at Nurse Judy.”

“She told me to 'just calm down and watch a nice vid,' then queued up that goddamn Citadel piece of shit they made after I died. Citadel! After what just happened, she dared-!”

It's five days later, and Shepard is slowly losing her mind. Her initial excitement over the discovery that she could wiggle her toes was quickly quashed when she wasn't walking the next day, and she has retreated into an unpredictable fury that includes thrown datapads and shouted insults interspersed with demands to talk to someone, anyone, in the Alliance Navy. But comms are still down in most parts, travel is restricted, and the hospital loses power twice a day. It's possible that no one but Miranda and the hospital staff know she's alive.

She's lucid enough by now to understand the extent of the damage to her body. Her entire left side, neck to knee, is fresh pink scar tissue from the regrown skin used to replace the burns sustained in the explosion, and half the bones in her left arm are synthetic replacements now. Her right wrist is broken in six places, the skin charred up to her elbow. The left side of her head, in addition to a burn here and there, has been shaved down to stubble and sports a few new scars where doctors were forced to drill to relieve pressure in her brain. And though she can't see it, Miranda has explained the repairs made to her spine and hips, which, coupled with the deterioration in her muscles, are the reason for her stiff back and uncooperative legs.

But the worrisome part is the abrupt stoppage of her implants, forcing her internal organs to work on their own again. And the work, evidently, is hard- she's exhausted, even just lying in bed.

“Keep it together until you're at least well enough to escort yourself to the bathroom,” replies Miranda dryly. “I've been as intimate with your body as I care to be. And it's not such a bad vid, though the actress that plays you takes her clothes off a lot more than I assume you actually did during that battle.”

“Not funny.”

“Stop yelling at the nurses and I'll find you some different vids,” she promises.

“I don't want vids. I want my omni-tool and a direct link to Hackett.”

“Your omni-tool was partially fused to your flesh. Suffice to say it's not in working order any longer. As for Hackett, he knows you're here. I've contacted the nearest Alliance base to let them know you're awake. I'm sure he'll storm the doors of the hospital to pin another medal on you as soon as he hears. You can probably imagine he had more pressing business to attend to than standing over your sickbed wringing his hands.”

Shepard scrubs at her face with her left hand. Waking up to a hospital full of strangers would have been a nightmare. She's tired and sore, but grateful for Miranda's presence, though she doubts the hospital would be so keen to allow her access to Shepard if she hadn't been using her connections to keep supplies flooding in.

“How did you know I was here, anyway? Seems the Alliance would have preferred to keep you away from me after the whole Cerberus thing.”

Miranda crosses her legs and leans back in her chair. “I wasn't tracking you, actually. I was tracking the Illusive Man. You just happened to be the only living thing recovered from that room. When the rescue crews found you, they never said your name, just that you were the only survivor and you were being transferred to Earth. I realized it was you when the shuttle set a course for Vancouver. Your last known place of residence. Lucky for you I tapped into their radios. The doctors were shocked by all the tech in you.” She pauses. “He is dead, isn't he?”

“Yeah,” mutters Shepard. “He's dead.”

Again Miranda pauses. “What...happened up there?”

“He was indoctrinated,” says Shepard shortly. “He thought he could control the Reapers. They were controlling him. I killed him.”

“And you activated the Crucible.”

“Yes.”

It's as close as Shepard has come to reliving those events, that horror show she still can't make sense of, like her brain doesn't want her to remember. So much of it seems like a dream, a hallucination, and she can't be sure any of it wasn't. She was dying, she was bleeding out, surely she could have made some of it up without realizing, but how can she pick out what was real among the dreams?

It hurts to think about. Miranda's eyes are eager. Shepard's gaze slides past her to the window. The sun is setting, the sky is gold and red, and something glimmers high above the clouds. Miranda follows her gaze and answers her unasked question.

“The Citadel,” she says. “What's left of it, still in orbit. I don't know what they'll do about it.”

The cold, dark, dead speck in the atmosphere leaves Shepard feeling cold in the pit of her stomach. Something swells in her throat and then suddenly she's gasping for breath, sweat prickling all over her body. The crushing force of the explosion, the pain flooding her twisted body, the fear of dying alone where no one would ever find her...

“Shut the blinds,” she wheezes and, alarmed, Miranda dashes to the window. The slats fall neatly into place, blocking the sky from view except for the cracks of dying sunlight that peep between them. Miranda stands silent at the window as Shepard regains control of her breathing, tries to calm her racing heart while feeling her face flood red with shame. She's never reacted like that, never, for any reason.

Thankfully, Miranda says nothing, just sits next to the bed and pretends not to see Shepard blinking back tears.

"Did anyone...were there any..."

"There were survivors," Miranda assures her quickly. "The force of the explosion was directed away from the Citadel. There's damage, but they'll rebuild. It's a resilient galaxy."

When Shepard doesn't reply, she continues. “You're a hero. Do you realize that there's already talk of putting you on the Council? There will be a holiday on every planet, celebrating the day you liberated the galaxy from the Reapers. Right now, just in this hospital, I've seen four babies named Shepard born in the last week. Nobody blames you for the damage the Reapers caused.”

"I could have done more."

“You nearly died,” says Miranda exasperatedly. “Unless you died sheltering a pair of orphans under your body, I don't see how you could have done any more than you did. You're one woman. You don't owe the galaxy anything more.”

“I didn't bring my crew back.”

“They're a talented bunch. It's quite possible they can survive without you. Most of the galaxy can.”

“What happened after I activated the Crucible?”

“Only you know that,” says Miranda. “Here? There was a...light, I suppose, though it seemed more than that, and the Reapers just...stopped. Fell over where they were standing. All the husks, and the other abominations, just stopped. The Citadel...well, the arms split from the center, but they adjusted the gravity before they went searching for survivors, so it's all connected again, if not as strong as it was. They've been repairing it. Nothing's going to replace the Citadel as the hub of the galaxy.”

“The arms _split off_?”

“A degree of damage was to be expected anywhere touched by the war,” says Miranda. “It could have been worse. A lot worse.”

Shepard stares into the distance. She doesn't realize there are tears rolling down her face until she starts sobbing all out, crying like she hasn't cried since Virmire. It's too much, being hit with all of this just days after waking, hearing about the consequences of the decision she barely remembers making. It's too much to be stuck in this bed, having lost her mobility, her health on top of the loss of her crew, on top of everything else that she lost over the course of the war.

Miranda sits on the edge of her bed. Her embrace isn't the same as Kaidan's, lighter and softer, smelling faintly of perfume. But Shepard holds her just as tightly, just as gratefully.

 


	48. Chapter 48

2187 - Vancouver

 

The next morning the hospital is buzzing with activity. Only minutes after Shepard wakes the nurses are maneuvering her into a fresh gown and chattering about an important visitor as they attempt to brush her hair back into something presentable. She isn't optimistic about their odds, and she doubts her hair has recovered from the partial buzz on one side. It more or less matches the rest of her face, haphazard like the deep scars that have only gotten deeper, and with her battered body completes the picture of a soldier held together with nothing but willpower and a few stitches.

She grimaces at her reflection when they hand her a mirror, but even if anything were to be done about it, there is no time. The nurses scurry out just as her visitor walks in.

“My God,” says Admiral Hackett. “I hardly dared believe it, but here you are.”

“Admiral,” Shepard greets him, and he shakes his head as she raises her right arm to salute.

“Don't strain yourself on my behalf, Captain,” he says.

“Captain?”

“At the very least. There's not a lot of brass left and promotions aren't top priority right now, but I'd be damned if you didn't get a little recognition. The Alliance wasn't sure you were going to pull through- you're still listed as condition unknown on all official correspondence. Captain would have been your posthumous promotion. Now that you're still alive and kicking, you could angle for Admiral and I don't think anyone could speak against it.”

“Alive, but not kicking any time soon,” she says, adjusting her position with a wince. “But thank you, sir. It's an honor.”

He sits in the chair at her beside. Despite the chaos of the past few months, he is as crisp and collected as ever in his uniform, and his expression betrays nothing beyond alertness and interest, but there is a certain weariness in his eyes, in the lines of his face, the same exhaustion that Shepard feels in her bones. The war has affected everyone to different degrees, but it has left none untouched.

“I'm sorry to disturb your convalescence, but the Alliance is dying to know what happened that night. There are so many unanswered questions that only you can answer, and seeing as you're in no fit state to write a report or hold a conference, I thought a face-to-face meeting would be best.”

Shepard nods. “Yes, sir.”

Hackett listens to her speak without interruption, his face as carefully blank as ever. When she reaches Anderson's death, her voice cracks and she has to take several deep breaths to compose herself again.

“I...I was bleeding a lot by this point, sir,” she says hesitantly. “I think I passed out. I heard your voice on the radio, telling me the Crucible wasn't firing. And then...sir, I don't know if I imagined this, or if it really happened.”

“It's all right, Shepard,” he says gently. “Just tell me what you remember.”

Her mouth opens. She almost does, almost spills everything. She's never lied to Hackett before, never told him anything but the unembellished truth because she knows- knows she's done the right thing every time she writes a report. She knows he'll back her, he's never refused to support her even under the direst of circumstances. But somehow she can't force those last moments to her tongue, can't admit what she's done. Not this time.

She would have told Anderson.

She tells him instead about waking up, about dragging herself to the console. About activating the Crucible. Nothing more.

When she finishes, he sits back in the chair and fixes her with a thoughtful gaze.

“Did you tell anyone else about this?” he asks finally.

“No, sir.”

“Good. Whether or not you experienced everything you remember, you did what needed to be done. Everything we did, all the sacrifices that were made, it all came down to stopping the Reapers. The bottom line is, you saved the galaxy, Shepard. There is no higher praise I can give you. You were prepared to give everything for the greater good- the greatest good, in this case. You're the pride of the Alliance.”

“Thank you, sir. But I wasn't alone.”

The exhaustion in his face deepens. “Yes. Your crew was one of the best, the most dependable group of soldiers anyone could ask for.”

Sickness pools in the pit of her stomach. “Then...there's no news of the Normandy?”

He shakes his head. “I'm sorry, Captain. We're still identifying wreckage from the battle. We lost so many, the recovery is slow at best. Some made it through the relays before they were damaged, but we haven't heard from them since. No communications can get through until they're repaired. All we can hope for is that they're still out there, trying to find a way home.”

A shaky sigh escapes her. “I understand.”

“When you've recovered, the Alliance will expect you to hold a press conference,” he says. “No doubt the whereabouts of the Normandy will be foremost on many minds.”

“Yes, sir.” She's tired, suddenly, the toll of reliving the battle for Earth too taxing for her battered body and mind. The idea of facing an army of reporters and telling them her crew is gone makes her ill.

“Meanwhile, I'll relate your report to the Alliance brass. I'm sure they'll clean it up for public consumption before you have to deal with any press. We haven't released the news you're alive yet, so barring any major misstep, we have some time.” He pauses. “That is, if you want to.”

“If I want to..?”

“You saved the galaxy,” he repeats, “but there's not a soul living today who hasn't lost someone to the Reapers. There will be more losses: famine, disease, exposure. Celebration will turn to despair, to mourning, to finger-pointing. Blame has to go somewhere. That's how it goes. You were the face of this war, and you'll be a convenient target.”

“Dead heroes don't have to be concerned with the political fallout,” she says wryly.

“Exactly. And there will be fallout. There already has been. It's in the back of every mind- why was Shepard halfway across the galaxy on Tuchanka while Alliance troops were dying on Earth? If Shepard had humanity's interest in mind, why was she on Palaven's moon while Luna base was wiped out? They know why. But a mother who lost her three kids isn't rational. A commander whose entire squad fell to Reaper forces doesn't want to hear that. And quite frankly, Shepard, you don't deserve that. Not after what you've done.”

She knows he's right. It's exactly what Ashley hisses in her ear at night, the hindsight she pores over again and again, looking for what she could have done differently, how many more she could have saved. “So what, I just...fake my death and disappear?”

“Right now, everything is such a mess that it would be easy enough to change your identity. We could set you up somewhere secluded, with a new name. Very few people know you've woken up at all. No one would question Shepard succumbing to her injuries.”

For a brief, shining moment, she thinks about what it would be like to have that lifted from her shoulders: the responsibility, the expectation, the blame plucked away to rest on someone else, someone she used to be. She thinks about what it would be like to be a normal person on the edges of the war, touched by it but not in the midst of it, never fearing the slinging of accusations, the judgment of a galaxy on her every decision. To let the name Shepard be the name of a legend, untouchable in death, not hung on a frail woman haunted by the past.

And oh, but she's so tired of it all.

“I can't do that, Admiral,” she says heavily. “For better or worse, I made those choices. I won't apologize for who I am or what I've done. And I won't hide from the consequences.”

“I didn't think you would,” he admits. “You're a fighter, Shepard. I just hope you get to stop fighting.”

“Me too.”

“I brought you something.” From his pocket he retrieves a slim box and places it on her nightstand. “A new omni-tool. Miss Lawson said you needed something to occupy yourself.”

“I...thank you, sir.”

“You have clearance to access all Alliance databases as well, so if there is any news of the Normandy, you'll be the first to know. In the meantime, you ought to get some rest. We'll need you back on your feet soon enough.”

She half-smiles. “I'll make every effort to comply.”

“I know you will.” He rises to leave.

“Sir, can I ask...what happened to Admiral Anderson? Did they find...?”

“His body was recovered,” Hackett assures her. “The ceremony was in London, about two weeks ago.”

“I'm sorry I missed it,” she murmurs.

“I'm sorry, too. I know you were close, and your report just now solidifies what a hero he was. It's a grievous loss to the Alliance. Admiral Anderson spoke of you with the greatest respect. He cared for you, and more than once he was the only voice speaking up for you.”

She bows her head. “He deserved so much more.”

“We rarely get what we deserve. Even less so in wartime. I'm glad you're alive, Shepard.” He shakes her hand. “We'll contact you soon.”

“Yes sir,” she says.

 


	49. Chapter 49

2187 – SSV Normandy

 

Everyone is irritable in the engine bay, the hot temperatures on top of the restricted rations and constant work is enough to bother even the strongest willed person. The lack of calories means Kaidan has a constant, low-level migraine, a thrum in the back of his head at all hours reminding him that biotics can't create energy from nothing. What he wants least of all is to sit around in engineering in the sweltering heat with that pounding in his head, but he supposes it's better than actually trying to coax another lift out of his tired body.

It's been a month. His agonizing sorrow has abated to a familiar ache in his chest, a hollowness he knows will never again be filled, that will overtake him when this is over and he gives himself time to dwell on it. It will almost be a relief to allow himself that pain, he thinks. The anticipation of the crash is worse.

"I think I've got it," says Tali. He's sure that if he could see under her helmet her face would be as exhausted as the rest of the crew's. Her quick body has been moving slower lately, a slump in her normally brisk movements, but she has worked as tirelessly as anyone.

"Everything that's left is here. We won't know what, if anything, that is until we start her up."

"When you're ready," he says, mopping his forehead with the back of his arm.

It's barely a fraction of a second, but he sees the hesitation before she flips the switch.  
There's no noise, but the lights flicker just slightly, and he feels the redirection of the ship's electricity. He and Tali lean over the console, studying the meters and holding their breath.

"Initializing startup sequence," says EDI's voice in a cool, professional tone. "This may take a moment. Please wait."

"That's a good sign, I think?" he asks.

"Well, she works," replies Tali. "Whether it's the same...consciousness...that we know her by is what remains to be seen."

Lights flash across the console and into the walls and floor. It reminds Kaidan of hands reaching out, testing to see what they can grasp.

"Backup data found. Please wait while I access the files." A brief moment passes. "Thank you. Please be advised that some data is incomplete or corrupted. Attempting recovery now. Data scans inform me that Commander Shepard is not aboard. Who is acting in her place?"

"I am," says Kaidan.

"Major Alenko. Yes, I see." There is a brief silence. "I am...familiar. There are large portions of data missing from the past several months. Did I suffer a malfunction?"

"We don't know. You were knocked offline after we retreated from Earth," explains Tali.

"Retreated from Earth? Was there a battle? Where is Commander Shepard?" If it's possible for an electronic voice to sound agitated, she does. "The missing data begins just after leaving Palaven's orbit. Flight logs are still available, crew charts and vital records are intact. Personal correspondence is..."

Her voice glitches, trailing off into electronic chirps.

"Commander Shepard was...lost in the battle for Earth," he says quietly. "We were forced to evacuate ahead of the Crucible firing."

"I have no data. There is...much that has happened." Again, he can feel the underlying emotion in her words, though he never knew a machine to possess emotion. "I will try to restore the missing pieces from the past six months."

“Any Reaper related code was deleted,” says Tali. “When the IFF was installed a few years ago, any additional functionality that gave you is gone. Something in the Crucible targeted that code.”

“That would account for the missing components. While I cannot activate the mobile platform, there should be little issue in running the Normandy.”

“Can we run a systems check?” asks Kaidan. “If there are any problems with the Normandy we need to know.”

EDI doesn't respond. The lights dim for a second and Kaidan feels that surge of power again. They're brighter when they come back on.

“Uh, guys? What's going on down there?” asks Joker via the intercom. “The engine just restarted, and I didn't tell it to do that.”

“I did,” says EDI. “Please remain calm, Jeff.”

Whatever Joker responds is lost to them as the intercom crackles off, but Kaidan can almost hear the yell of surprise two floors down.

“Well, that's something,” says Tali. “Maybe not something I'll be in a hurry to admit to the fleet, but...”

“Feel okay about it?”

“I feel good about it,” she agrees.

“Results of the systems check. There are six high-risk malfunctions in the drive core,” says EDI. “A further twenty-two non-critical issues exist as well. Crew stress levels are overall higher than acceptable. We are approximately thirty-five days at optimal travel time from Earth, with all damage taken into consideration. The nearest Alliance comm buoy is fourteen days away.”

It's better than Kaidan could have hoped for. “How fast can we have the repairs done?”

“Sixteen hours. I will initiate the repair sequence and notify Jeff to be on standby for liftoff.”

Tali beams. Kaidan pats her on the shoulder and lets out a sigh of relief he didn't realize he was holding. It's almost over. They're almost free.

 


	50. Chapter 50

2187 - Vancouver

 

In the early hours of the morning, an ear-splitting crash shakes the hospital. The electricity flashes and goes out, replaced by the dim emergency lighting, and somewhere close, sirens begin to wail. Shepard wakes from a fitful sleep plagued by nightmares into an adrenaline-fueled confusion, her instincts taking over, and rolls out of her hospital bed into a heap on the floor. Dazed and bleeding, she scrambles for a gun that isn't there, ready to bark orders at her crew if she could just get into her suit...

Her left arm doesn't work and her right is a fiery burst of pain from her awkward landing. _Where is her gun? She doesn't hear the frantic beeping of her suit's shields failing, so why can't she move?_ The floor is so cold, _the clinically clean tile of a Cerberus lab slick with blood beneath her._ She draws panting, desperate lungfuls of air _. Check the seals, oxygen levels have to be low, can't breathe..._

Hands reach for her, closing on her shoulders, _cold dead fingers of husks_ and she flails wildly to throw them off but they keep coming and she's helpless and screaming...

She's still screaming when the nurse jabs her with a sedative. A soothing voice whispers in her ear as the world dissolves around her.

Miranda is there when she wakes up. Emergency generators are maintaining a low level of lighting.

“Pieces of...debris are still entering the atmosphere,” she explains. “You're not the first to have that reaction.”

Shepard doesn't reply, furious and ashamed. Though the new fracture in her right arm was an easy fix, the fall itself was humiliating, and the hallucinations...

“It's post-traumatic stress disorder,” says Miranda. “Not unexpected considering all you've been through in the past few-”

“I know what PTSD is,” snaps Shepard, and Miranda lets it drop.

When the hospital regains power, it returns with limited communications, but a local news channel is finally up and running. Shepard watches it with fascination for hours, absorbing the pictures of devastation and loss and rebuilding and hope. There are iconic photographs in the making: krogan and turians fighting side-by-side, an asari shielding a group of human civilians, salarian doctors tending to the wounded of all races on cots side by side. One that shows up again and again is a tiny dot silhouetted by the light of the beam in London. _The Turning Point_ , reads the caption. It could be her or Anderson. She prefers to believe it's Anderson.

Another shows, from a distance, two soldiers standing close together in the shadow of a crumbling building, while behind them tanks roll through and fires burn across the cityscape. It's a well-composed photograph, but she doesn't take much notice of it until the third or fourth time it crosses the screen.

They're kissing, she realizes, locked in a desperate embrace. Their faces are hidden in shadow but she recognizes the stance of the female soldier, a head shorter than her partner, the glimpse of red and white paint on her shoulder. Once she sees that, it's easy to make out the N7 insignia, easy to make out the familiar blue armor the man is wearing.

With her new omni-tool and a stack of datapads, Shepard can tap into the Alliance's databases and retrieve info from the war, from deployments of soldiers to the positions of warships. The latter is what she delves into, tracking the movements of the ships in the battle's final hours, making guesses on where the Normandy might have been and where it might have gone. It's an exercise in futility, but it keeps her mind occupied, keeps her from reliving the battle again and again, trying to correct where she went wrong, to pinpoint the decisions she could have made that would have kept her crew close and safe.

Unlike most of the ships, the Normandy had operated under its own direction, making it impossible to trace. She finds its position marked in orbit just after she entered the beam, tries to cross reference it with the debris found in the same area, and comes up empty handed. This is not her forte, she knows, and ironically she would likely need Traynor's help to make any real progress.

Still, she keeps trying.

It's coming up on a month and a half since the end of the war, almost two weeks since Shepard regained consciousness, and she and Miranda are poring over the datapads scattered across her bed.

“Have you given any thought to what you'll do if...nothing comes of this?” asks Miranda hesitantly.

“I don't know,” replies Shepard, not raising her eyes from the datapad in her hand. “I lost my family on Mindoir. I lost my squad on Akuze. I lost the original Normandy and half my crew. I lost my career and my credibility and countless friends. I lost my health. If I don't find them, if I lose them too...how many times can one person lose everything?”

She looks up to see the worry cross Miranda's face.

“I didn't mean for that to sound so bleak,” she adds. “But the fact is, the people on that ship are my family. No one else will know what I've been through. I can't just start over, start a new life as some galactic celebrity. I've been alone for a long time and I don't care to be again. As soon as I can walk, I'm getting a ship, one way or another, and I'll find them or die trying.”

“You think the Alliance will just let their poster girl for galactic peace jet off on a wild goose chase?”

She raises an eyebrow. “The way I see it, they owe me one.”

"Can't argue that," admits Miranda. "But it's a big galaxy, Shepard."

"I have to try," replies Shepard. "And if not...well, there's always Alchera."

Silence hangs in the air between them for a moment before Miranda says, “Shepard,” but the woman only shrugs.

“Not everything broken can be put back together,” she says simply.

 

-

 

If there's one thing Miranda can do, it's find people.

Apparently, not even a major war can stop that, because one morning a general ruckus arises in the hallway outside Shepard's room, and over the shouting of doctors and nurses and what must be Alliance guards rises a familiar voice accompanying a familiar ground-shaking set of footsteps.

“Shepard!” bellows Wrex good-naturedly, squeezing through the door against the frantic discouragements of the hospital staff. “You're sneakier than a varren and harder to kill. You just gonna lay on your ass while the rest of us do the heavy lifting?”

She can't help but laugh. “What I wouldn't give for the body of a krogan right now. How did you find me?”

“Your ex-Cerberus pal invited me. Said you were aching for some familiar faces. A damn pity about your ship, but hell, your crew's been through almost as much as you have so they must have picked up some tips on survival."

"He's fine," Shepard assures the herd of nurses amassing in the hallway behind the krogan. "I'm surprised you're still on Earth," she says to Wrex.

"Not much choice, since some smartass went and broke all the mass relays."

“Still, how long is a FTL trip back to Tuchanka?”

“Longer than it would take to repair a relay, I'm guessing. You look like hell, by the way.”

“Have I ever told you how charming you are?”

“Don't ruin our friendship with your flirting, Shepard, I'm not interested. So what's next for the savior of the galaxy? You've already killed damn near everything that needs killing. Ready to settle down and raise some young?”

“Now who's flirting?”

“Ha! Your new face would definitely land you a krogan, but you'll have your hands full with the humans fighting over you. You could have them fight to the death for the chance to lie with you- keep your bloodline strong.”

“Humans don't really do that kind of thing. We're mostly a pair-bonding bunch, with minimal fighting to the death”

“That's why you're still weak as a species. Trust me on this. This could be your chance to fix that.”

She gives a wry smile. “Hard pass.”

“I guess you're waiting to see if your ship comes back, first. Give what's-his-name a chance.”

“You worked with him for _months_ , Wrex. You know his name.”

The krogan shrugs. “He didn't stand out all that much among the rest of the humans on your crew. You all kind of look alike. Besides all the pheromones. I figured it wouldn't last when you didn't lay any eggs.”

“Humans don't do that either. God, did you all know about me and Kaidan?”

“Were we not supposed to? None of us cared, if that helps.” Wrex pauses. “He's probably alive.”

“Love the vote of confidence.”

“It's the optimist in me. Normally I'd say they're definitely dead, but there's no stopping that ship. Even if you and I aren't aboard.”

It reminds Shepard of old times, of the days she's missed while fighting an impossible war. Wrex's company is a much needed pick-me-up in the bleak hospital room where she has too much time to dwell on things she cannot change.

It's enough to coax her out of bed, to confront the painful new reality that is her physical therapy. It's enough to keep her temper under control even when the frustration builds to a head.

They deem her well enough to leave after another week and a half. Miranda helps her pack up her datapads and they take a shuttle to the Vancouver Alliance base.

The last time Shepard was in this building, it was being leveled by Reapers.

There has been extensive rebuilding, but more importantly the living quarters are underground and thus were hardly touched. Though the cramped space and lack of windows would never have bothered her before, she feels antsy as Miranda wheels her into the small apartment designated for her by the Alliance.

"It's...not bad," says Miranda doubtfully. In actuality, it's smaller than her hospital room was, more akin to her old room on the original Normandy. There's a small bed and a desk with a terminal, though there hasn't been extranet access for months. A set of chairs and a small coffee table finish the room. Miranda picks up one of the magazines scattered there, dated some six months past.

"It'll do," replies Shepard. It reminds her of being in basic again, honestly. Everything is spartan and clean and once upon a time she would have appreciated having the room to herself. Now her skin itches all over, like her inability to see the sky is a physical ailment. She needs the sky. She needs space.

Miranda hesitates. "I'll...stay with you, if you want me to."

She does. She wants it more than she'll ever admit, can't bear the idea of living here alone when her crew is still missing and she feels like a barely functional person, but Miranda is eager to reunite with her sister, and her skills are going to waste as Shepard's caretaker when there is so much more she could be doing. So she tries a smile, and it almost looks real.

"I can't keep you any longer," says Shepard.

"Well. You could. I don't suppose many people are going to say no to you anymore," replies Miranda. "And to be quite honest, I hate the thought of leaving you here alone, especially after..."

"Your sister needs you more than I do. I got along on my own fine for thirty years."

"Besides that one minor instance of death and a second of near-death, yes, you did."

Shepard wants to laugh, but she can't.

“What are you going to do now?” asks Miranda.

“Find a ship. Find my crew.”

“I should have guessed. I wish you luck, Shepard. And I'll keep you updated if I hear anything. You'll go back to the hospital, though? If you don't keep up with the therapy...”

“I'll go,” promises Shepard, though it's the least of her priorities. “You worked hard on this body. I'll keep it going.”

“I worked harder on your mind,” says Miranda. Her blue eyes are troubled. “I really will stay with you, it's no trouble. Oriana is safe, she'll be all right without me for a little longer.”

“Don't delay your reunion on my behalf,” says Shepard. “I'll keep busy. The Alliance wants me to speak at some victory ceremony. Anyway, I could use a little privacy, without you and the nurses hanging all over me.”

“Don't enjoy yourself too much,” warns Miranda. “I won't be going far. And I'll hurry right back if you need me.”

“You don't owe me that,” argues Shepard.

“It's not about being owed. It's about being friends.”

“Oh, don't get all mushy on me now,” grins Shepard.

“With you, Captain? Never.”

 


	51. Chapter 51

2187 – Vancouver

April

 

Public speaking has never been a big deal for Shepard. She's confident of her knowledge in all the subjects she's supposed to know and isn't ashamed to admit when she doesn't. Opinions, good or bad, don't affect her unless they're coming from her team or her superiors. She makes no apologies for who she is or what she does.

But she's nervous now.

Her new dress blues are stiff, hastily altered to reflect her new rank, and she's acutely aware of how thin and weak her legs look sticking out from the skirt. At least the hat covers the mess that's her hair; even though it technically adheres to regulations. Miranda shaved it for her before she left, a half inch of fuzz left on either side of her head, thick and curly on the top, more orderly though it doesn't hide the scars there.

Hackett helps her awkwardly to her feet and she takes his arm.

“You're all right?” he asks.

“It's nothing I haven't done before,” she replies. “Granted, the last time I had a promotion ceremony wasn't after a major war with most of the galaxy looking in...”

“There are less people watching than you think,” he replies. “We're still cut off from most of the planet, let alone the rest of the galaxy. Though I'm sure this interview will go into history books in the future.”

“Very reassuring.”

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” he says.

“I'm not afraid,” she says. “I just wish I had better news, something concrete to tell them. 'I pressed a button and saved the galaxy' isn't the most exciting story.”

“Nor is 'I possibly hallucinated everything that happened on the Citadel,' Shepard,” he replies dryly. “You've been around long enough to understand that most of what happens is rarely exciting at the time. It's tiring and painful and terrifying. And when you tell the story later, no one else really comprehends those things. What sounds exciting to them rarely sounds exciting to those who lived through it.” He pauses while she steps carefully over the uneven floor, fingers tight on his arm. “Besides, you condensed the full story quite a bit in your summary. You skipped over the bits about the thresher maw and the orbital strikes.”

She chuckles. “No one's going to believe any of that without my crew to back me up.”

“All the more reason to find them quickly,” he says as she sobers, thinking again about the fate of the Normandy. “Try to downplay the Normandy's absence. A short statement will do- something to reassure them that we are still looking and remain hopeful. Don't elaborate.”

She couldn't if she wanted to- after all, she knows just as little.

Hackett guides her onto the stage. It's makeshift, like anything else, but there was clearly an attempt at decorating, including lights and cameras set up from every corner. It makes her slightly ill at ease to think about all the people just in the city who don't have electricity while they're using resources for this ceremony. She catches a glimpse of a banner with her name on it before she has to sit, her tired legs exhausted from the quick journey

She tries to smile through the speeches, shakes hands with the few Alliance officials present. It really isn't a large group of people, and for that she is thankful. Better that those still alive concentrate their efforts on rebuilding than making an appearance at her little commemoration. She thinks about her brief Spectre induction, about the pride on Anderson's face, about Kaidan and Ashley grinning at her from the sidelines, and her heart aches as she looks into the audience of unfamiliar faces.

Years ago she might have daydreamed about being on this stage, about Hackett formally bestowing the rank of captain on her, but now, like the aftermath of Akuze, she feels nothing. Half her life spent in service to the Alliance, slowly chipping away at her health both mental and physical, losing friends, being branded a traitor, and here she is again with nothing to show but a slew of scars and the ache of loss in her gut while she puts on a plastic smile for the reporters to photograph.

If crawling into bed and pulling the blankets over her head for the next year was an option, she'd take it in a heartbeat.

Instead she gives a brief speech, throws out a lot of words like “victory” and “triumph” while praising the actions of the Alliance, recites the Alliance-approved version of the past few months, and answers questions from the audience, all with that fake smile plastered on her face. There is polite applause, but the faces she can see remain impassive.

"Captain- where is the Normandy? The Alliance has danced around this question for far too long."

The question comes from a small woman in the front row in a loud, firm voice that doesn't seem to belong to someone of her stature. She's dressed in a somber black suit, her silver hair swept back from her face into an elegant knot. She is oddly familiar somehow, though Shepard is sure they have never met before. It's the question she's been avoiding but would inevitably come up, and she's glad to have an answer rehearsed.

"The Normandy is officially listed as MIA," she replies. "Beyond that, I'm afraid I cannot speculate. It is my dearest hope that my crew is safe and on their way home."

Beside her, Hackett nods his approval. A perfect answer.

"Bullshit," says the woman. "You were the commanding officer. How is it you're here and your crew isn't? Where is your crew, Captain Shepard?"

Her voice rises to a shout and Shepard finds herself at a loss.

"I don't know," she says finally. "I'm truly sorry."

"I need answers," says the woman. "I've already lost a husband to the Alliance. The least you can do is tell me if you've gotten my son killed, too!"

The crowd breaks into approving shouts but Shepard is barely aware of it as she stares down into woman's unmistakable brown eyes. Once she sees them, she can pick out the other recognizable features, the straight nose, the curved lips, that she knows so well.

“How can you be here, wasting time with your goddamn ceremonies, when there are still people out there dying, people who haven't been found? The war isn't over just because the enemies are gone! We know what the Alliance has done, but what are you going to do?”

That is the rallying cry the crowd wanted to hear, not Shepard's meticulously prepared speeches, not the cleaned-up version of events. Mrs. Alenko- for there is no doubt who this woman is- has cut right to the crux of the matter. Earth is safe. Its people are not.

“Time to go,” mutters Hackett in her ear, helping her to her feet.

“I need to talk to that woman,” argues Shepard, eyes still fixed on the surging crowd, their voices rising even as he hurries her from the stage.

 

-

 

Mrs. Alenko is not a woman who is easily appeased.

She agrees to a private meeting with Shepard, but from the moment she walks in it's clear that it will be under her own terms. A short woman, slim but softened by age, she is no less imposing than an asari commando as she crosses her arms over her chest. Hackett stands nearby, as do a complement of guards, as though this woman might rush Shepard.

“Don't waste words on me,” says Mrs. Alenko. It's hard for Shepard to look at her. While Kaidan clearly received his broad shoulders, his strong chin from his father, everything else is a reflection of his mother. The accusing stare she gets from those familiar eyes cuts straight to her heart. “It's disgraceful that the Alliance is using their time and resources for something so frivolous when so many are suffering. And you, Captain, for going along with it while your own ship is still missing.”

“As it happens, I agree with you,” says Shepard calmly. “But not all resources are tangible. Hope and optimism are in short supply as well. Proving that all the sacrifices we made over the past months were worth it. I understand you're upset. I know a lot of people are. All I can say is that we're trying. We're a limited number of people fighting to restore the entire galaxy.”

"I'm not trying to be difficult," she says. "I know how hard the military life is and I appreciate everything you've done for us. But it's been months since I heard from my son, and everywhere I turn I get the runaround. Please, if you have any decency, tell me what happened to the Normandy. If he's dead, I'll...I'll get through it, somehow. But I can't stand not knowing."

"I wish I could help you, Mrs. Alenko, but I don't know any more than you do. He was with me up until I made a run for the beam. He was injured. I forced him back to the ship."

"I don't blame you for this," she says, "but I know my son. He follows his heart, however foolishly it may lead, and it led him back to you."

"Then you should know there's nothing I wouldn't give to bring him back."

A pregnant pause stretches between them, and she forces herself to meet the woman's eyes.

Mrs. Alenko holds her gaze. “You surprise me, Captain. After your disappearance, Kaidan was a different person. He was distant, distracted. I don't think he smiled for months. He's always felt deeply for his friends, and I thought that's all this was: mourning a friend, a superior officer he respected. When he still hadn't moved past it, I suspected there might have been something more. A one-sided crush, sure. But for you to have reciprocated...”

“Love blossoms in the strangest places,” replies Shepard. "Maybe it was selfish of me to have taken him back onto the Normandy, but I did. I knew he was capable, that my team would be better for having him there. And yes, if these were our last days, I wanted him around. I wanted to spend all the time I could with him. There are regs, and we broke them, but I don't regret it. I love him."

"You have no idea how much I wish I could hate you for this, Captain, but I can hardly fault you for loving Kaidan. I just...”

“If there is anything I can do to get him back safe, rest assured I will do it. If I have to steal a ship and hunt him down myself, there's no force on this Earth that can stop me. Right now it's a fool's errand. If that changes, you'll be the first to know.”

“Thank you,” says Mrs. Alenko softly. “That...well, it doesn't help, frankly, but thank you anyway.”

She reaches out, clasps Shepard's hands in her own. Then she leans in and kisses Shepard's cheek. It's a gesture that surprises her, brings a lump to her throat, makes her think of her own mother, lost so long ago.

“Please bring him back.”

 


	52. Chapter 52

2187 – Vancouver

 

"I need a ship."

The Alliance members look at Shepard like she's requesting a live Reaper. Even over the poor quality QEC she can read the confusion on their faces. They think she's lost her mind.

"We don't have any to spare, Captain," says an admiral hesitantly. Shepard doesn't recognize him- a new face promoted during the war, most likely. "And there's no evidence as to the current location or status of the Normandy. It's a foolish gesture."

"Doesn't matter. I need one. I'll find them. If you don't want to supply a crew, I'll get my own. I just need a ship."

Agitation crosses the man's face. "In a few months, when we've had time to take stock-"

"I need a ship now. I'd prefer not to steal one."

There's some laughter, she knows she hears it from the back of the room, and for good reason. She's sitting primly in her wheelchair, asking for control of a military spacecraft to search the entire galaxy for her lost crew with no idea where to start. And threatening to steal a ship when she can barely stand on her own two feet. Not the most terrifying she has ever been.

She's aware that it's a wild goose chase. She's also aware that she can't sit around and do nothing anymore.

"Captain Shepard. While the Alliance is more grateful than you know for what you've done, we simple don't have the resources." His tone is conciliatory, but Shepard knows when she's being brushed off.

"You can't spare a ship to search for my team, the team that helped me save all of your asses? If you should be grateful to anyone, it should be to them, for their sacrifice. This is the least you could do to thank them. Bring them home."

"You're asking us to entrust you with a military class frigate without any flight training or an approved pilot. You're asking us to let you journey alone into space despite your devastating injuries and without passing a psych evaluation."

"That's exactly what I'm asking," says Shepard. "I'm asking to do what you don't seem to think needs to be done, and bring home a ship full of galactic heroes. Best case scenario, I find them. Worst case, I die and I'm out of your hair. All it costs you is a frigate. You owe me this."

The admiral's hesitance gives way to exasperation as Shepard grows more and more irritated "As I say, Captain, there is no ship to spare. We honor the sacrifice your crew made. We hope to have them returned to us. But at this point-"

"I need a fucking ship!" It's a shout, and the Alliance officials are taken aback, but though she knows it was the wrong move she can't stop herself. "What else do you need from me? I gave everything to the Alliance, what else is left? Blood? You can have that, too!"

Her omni-tool glows before she can think better of it, shaped into a glowing orange point, and she sinks the omni-blade into her opposite arm. The QEC operator gapes at her, but she's too angry to feel the searing pain.

"Captain, your request is denied. Your outburst will be overlooked if you get a psych eval. We thank you for your service."

"Disconnect," she snaps. Her omni-tool has already queued up a dose of medi-gel but blood stains her uniform pants. "This is the fucking thanks I get?"

She sends a message to Hackett but doubts his response will be any different. Though her arm aches (her own stupid fault), she wheels herself out and back down to her room. When she logs onto the terminal she discovers that her access to the spaceport has been revoked as well.

Fine.

“Are communications open to the Citadel?” she asks one of the privates in the mess the next morning.

“It depends who you're trying to reach. Personal calls are low-priority, so you probably can't reach a specific person, but C-Sec and docking officials are probably okay. They just re-established extranet access a few days ago too, so messaging might work, depending on how fast you need an answer.”

“What about a news broadcaster? Westerlund, maybe?”

The private shrugs. “I wouldn't be surprised if the news got their extranet access back before they even had regular power,” he says.

The Alliance base doesn't have extranet messaging up yet, but her omni-tool does.

She gets a ping from the Alliance about three minutes after she sends a message to Khalisah al-Jilani offering an interview.

They'll find a ship.

 

-

 

Unbeknownst to Shepard, ongoing repairs to comm buoy signals are completed shortly after her meltdown. The Alliance regains extranet access and her terminal is flooded with messages until she sets it to priority only. She's pleased to hear from Miranda again, and though Wrex isn't the best with a terminal keyboard he sends the occasional note as well. She recognizes another name here and there, another person who's survived, another who is reaching out to her. Hackett sends her a warning about her behavior, which she disregards, and an appointment for a psych eval, which she also ignores. She spends days fishing for the important messages, looking for some sign of life from her crew, but to no avail. She's resigned to waiting for her ship to become available. It will be a bigger undertaking than perhaps she first thought, but giving up now is not an option. She shows up to her physical therapy classes and practices for as long as her body will let her, ready to take that first step back into space when it comes for her.

It's raining the night that the green light blinking in the darkness stirs her out of sleep. It's a tiny dot from the terminal in the corner of her room, and she rolls over to look at it, brow furrowed. Priority message notification.

She clamps down on the little hopeful flutter that always stirs in her chest when she sees it. Likely it's nothing, another rebuke from Hackett, maybe, a request from the Alliance for another interview. She almost goes back to sleep. Instead, she gingerly eases herself out of bed and pads over to the terminal on aching legs, using her furniture for support. She squints against the light when she powers on the screen.

It is a message, received in the dead of night. Curiosity wins her over, and she opens it.

Reflexes, honed from her long years in the Alliance, are the only thing that keep her from falling, her breath catching in her chest, suddenly shaking hands finding purchase on the back of her chair to steady herself.

 

_Hey Shepard,_

_Not sure when this will get to you since I can't find an active comm, but I had to give it a try. I mean, in between all the parties and the awards ceremonies and who knows what else, you probably miss us, right? Maybe a little worry for our well-being? Maybe on your fifth glass of champagne at your big Alliance hero party you think to yourself, hey, whatever happened to Joker and the group of plucky misfits I used to hang out with?_

_Well, the answer to that is, we're stuck on a planet somewhere. I know, helpful, right? The ship is a little worse for the wear and EDI's systems got knocked out when we crash-landed, so I spend all day sitting here in the cockpit obeying such orders as “we adjusted a bolt somewhere, so try starting the engines again, Joker” for the eighty-second time. Spoiler alert: it didn't start the eighty-second time, either. Comms are down, QEC is trashed, but we're okay in supplies and the important systems are still working, so barring a Lord of the Flies type situation, we ought to make it out alive._

_Everyone is fine, by the way, although they all think you're dead for some reason. I admit, the explosion did not look good, but hell, think of the number of times I snatched your ass right out of the middle of a big explosion. It's old hat by now. You're alive. You really just gotta be alive because I can't have killed you again._

_I asked Kaidan if he had anything to add, but he just gave me that sad look. “Shepard and I have said everything we needed to,” he said. Kind of cryptic from the guy who had zero ability to hide his crush on you from the moment you walked through the airlock (and yeah, we all knew about you two. Worst kept secret in the Alliance)._

_I'll update you when there's more to say. I never really appreciated how quiet it is up here without EDI. Hey, if you can trace this message and send a rescue party, that would be pretty swell._

_Save some of the good liquor for us!_

_Joker_

 

 

Other messages pop up, later ones, but she barely notices. Choked laughter escapes her, tears brimming in her eyes. She reads it three more times, to be sure she isn't dreaming, then types back a quick response and prepares to raise hell.

 


	53. Chapter 53

2187 – SSV Normandy

 

“We are three minutes from entering range of Alliance comms,” says EDI's voice, though it's hardly necessary. Minute by painful minute, Kaidan has been watching the clock tick down for the past four hours as the stars whip past them, scanning for any rogue radio signals, just in case. “Our emergency beacon will connect when we pass. Average time to reach Earth is 2.8 minutes once it is broadcast, assuming no interference.”

“Keep her steady,” mutters Joker, though he looks as nervous as Kaidan feels. When the surveillance screens bounce to the mess he sees the rest of the crew gathered, waiting with bated breath to hear news about their homes, their loved ones.

Their commander.

“Your vital signs are showing high levels of stress, Major Alenko,” she continues. “It may be advisable to visit the medical bay.”

“I'll drop dead right here, first.”

“That would not be the wisest course of action.”

“EDI, it might be best to just let that one slide,” cautions Joker.

“It would be illogical to delay medical care on the basis of Captain Shepard's survival,” says EDI.

“Commander,” corrects Kaidan automatically.

“My systems indicate a change in status-”

“Shh!” A tinny sound wavers in the air, an impassive voice reading a news broadcast. Static muffles all but a few words. Still, its a voice, proof that there's still someone out there in the darkness, that they aren't alone in the galaxy, and Kaidan's chest aches with dread and hope both, his heart beating painfully fast.

“Can we clean this up?”

“It should take care of itself in the next thirty seconds,” replies Joker.

“...that all Reaper movement has ceased,” says the monotone voice. “Major cities around the world confirm that the attacks stopped abruptly this morning at 2:21 AM Greenwich Mean Time. Alliance High Command credits Admiral David Anderson and Commander Audrey Shepard with striking the final blow against this galactic threat.”

Kaidan sucks in a deep breath.

“The Citadel, ground zero of the blast, was badly damaged and remains in orbit around Earth. Rescue crews, spread thin with the damage to Earth, have been aided by the surviving vessels from multiple fleets, but death tolls are expected to be high. The Charon Relay was confirmed to be damaged in the blast as well, with asari scouts worried about the feasibility of timely repairs and the possibility of damage to the relays in other systems. The Quarian Heavy Fleet also reports the loss of any signal from the newly allied geth forces, and investigations are underway.

“Meanwhile, rescue crews recovered the body of Admiral Anderson from the remains of the Citadel. Fifth Fleet Admiral Steven Hackett released a statement expressing deep sadness for the loss, coupled with a great admiration for his sacrifice.”

“Hell,” whispers Joker.

“Hackett also praised the actions of Commander Shepard and expressed hope that she might still be found. Shepard remains missing in action and presumed dead.”

The reporter continues, but none of them are listening any longer. A cold numbness has settled over Kaidan, locking him in place, a piercing static in his ears, while Joker stares glassily at the expanse of stars ahead of them.

“It was an old broadcast,” says Joker finally. “Made the day we left. There's gotta be an update. We won't know the most recent stuff til we get closer to Earth. They could have found her.”

“Jeff,” says EDI patiently, “there is a message that-”

“She was with Anderson. He didn't make it.” Kaidan speaks slowly, carefully. If he says her name now he's not going to be able to handle it.

“That doesn't mean anything though. If they were together, they'd have found them together, right? She might have gotten away, gotten to a different part of the Citadel, or maybe someone went back for her-”

“Jeff, if I might direct your attention-”

“You've been living in this fantasy world for over a month,” snaps Kaidan. “The rest of us have accepted it. She's gone. She's gone and we have to-”

His voice breaks.

“Right,” says Joker angrily, “because you've been coping so well! We all gave up on her once, and lo and behold, we were wrong. Who's to say we can't be wrong again?”

“You can't just close your eyes and-”

A hum, and the power goes out in the cockpit. They both fall silent in alarm, and EDI's cool voice speaks over them.

“As I was saying, Jeff, you have received a message pertinent to this conversation.”

The lights flicker back on.

“A message?”

“Several messages, in fact, as we have just entered range of a surviving comm buoy, but I was referring to this one.”

The terminal blinks on, the message already on the screen.

 

_Joker-_

_Still alive. Sending all the Alliance help I can get to track you down. Get back to Earth pronto, or I'll have you all arrested for desertion._

_-Shepard_

 


	54. Chapter 54

SSV Normandy SR-2 - en route to Earth

 

Brimming with barely suppressed excitement, Traynor's voice comes over the intercom.

"Major Alenko, Captain Shepard is available on vid-comm."

It's of little surprise to him when he arrives in the comm room to find half the crew already waiting. Anticipation mixes with anxiety in his stomach- part of him still can't believe she's alive, but when the QEC connects (staticky and with the occasional glitch) there's a roar of sound behind him and her beaming face in front, tears in her eyes.

"Good to see you, Major," she says. "I trust you've been keeping my crew safe?"

It's her voice, her face, and he hungrily takes in every detail. She's too small, frail and sickly looking, seated in a wheelchair with her hands folded in her lap. Scars litter her face, some old, some new, and her dress blues look stiff and overlarge on her withered frame. But her eyes are bright and her smile is brighter as she takes in the faces in the crowded room.

He wants to reach out and touch her, somehow reach through miles of space to feel the heat of her skin, to wipe the tears off her face. When she meets his eyes he has to fight to force his words out around a sudden lump in his throat.

"Everyone's accounted for, Captain. We'll be entering the Sol system in twenty-one days."

“Can't wait to welcome you back to Alliance space.”

She lets her eyes linger on him a moment longer before breaking her gaze and regarding the rest of the crew behind him with a smile.

"I'm not sure how much news you've been getting out there, but it's over. You were all instrumental in our victory and you have the Alliance's deepest thanks. There's too much that happened to explain it all right now. I'm using a ridiculous amount of power just getting this message out to you, but I couldn't wait any longer to tell you how goddamn proud I am of every one of you."

"We're just happy to see you alive and well," says Liara.

Shepard swipes at her eyes. "Same to you guys. I hate to cut this short, but I need to talk to the CO in private, okay?"

There's a chorus of "goodbye" and "take care" as the crew files out. Kaidan waits until the door closes before regarding Shepard again.

"You really gotta stop doing this to me, Shepard," he says with a trembling laugh, and she echoes it on the other end of the line.

"Last time, I swear. I won't be doing much of anything til I get through a few more surgeries and some months of therapy."

"How bad?"

Her smile wavers. "Bad. But I've had worse."

The truth is somewhere in the middle, he's sure.

"You really did it," he says. "You got the galaxy to work together and walked right up to that beam and-"

"I don't...we can't get into it right now," she says. "What about you? You were hurt badly when I left, and I can tell you're favoring your right leg..."

"It's okay. I've had worse."

"Your mother's alive," she says in a rush. "I didn't want to say anything in front of everyone else, because she's the only one I talked to. But she's alive, and fine, and I'm pretty sure she hates me."

"I'm sure that's not true."

She chuckles. "Well, she definitely doesn't like me. But we can't sit here and trade pleasantries all night. I'll need everyone's reports, the repair logs, galactic position..."

"I'll forward it all on. I just...want to look at you. Just for a minute."

She touches the side of her face self-consciously, fingertips brushing the shaved parts of her head, running over the scars. He doesn't care about any of that. The brightness in her eyes alone lend her face more radiance than he can handle.

"I'm not much to look at right now. And I can't justify the cost of this call just to flirt with you, Major."

But he can feel her looking him over, studying his features, the scars left on his face, the way he's standing, the same way he's drinking her in.

"What happened up there?" he asks finally.

"I just...activated the Crucible. That's all."

Her reluctance is strange in a woman who is normally quick to regale people with her heroics, who has told more stories more times than half the Alliance combined. It reminds him of the way she speaks of Mindoir, of Akuze, dodging the details because the memories are too painful to dredge up in full, and there's something in her eyes that confirms it.

"Okay," he says. "I love you, Shepard. You know that?"

She nods. "I love you, too. We'll talk about it. Like I said, long story, and the connection isn't the best."

"But you're doing okay?"

"Yeah. Miranda was here, she looked after me while I was in the hospital. And Hackett's been by, and Wrex even, and it's...it's over. I have time to breathe again."

He hesitates. "I'm sorry about Anderson."

"Me too. I...I'm running out of time, and I need to talk to Joker before I disconnect," she says apologetically. "I'm sorry to leave it here. Please just get back safely, okay? The Alliance is sending a couple of frigates to meet you-"

"We have the best pilot in the Alliance," he reminds her. "And the best ship. Even if she's seen better days. I'll get Joker for you. I...I'm so glad you're okay. I thought..."

"I'd never leave you behind," she says softly. "You know that."  
  
  


-

 

She's not sure what to say to Joker, to be quite honest.

“I chose to destroy all synthetic life, sorry about your girlfriend” doesn't exactly convey her emotions aptly or compassionately, and she's not sure she could get those words out even if she did try to speak them.

But the camera shifts, and then she sees him in the cockpit, and she's out of time to think.

“Captain, huh? About time. I might have held out for admiral, but captain is good too,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Did you talk to anyone about medals for the rest of us, yet? Or promotions? Flight _Commander_ Moreau has a nice ring to it.”

She laughs, despite herself. “I'll buy you a damn medal myself if the Alliance doesn't,” she tells him. “Just get the ship back here in one piece.”

“Speaking of being in one piece, you're missing a few,” he says critically. “You ask the Reapers to give you a haircut, too? I'm not sure which of us looks more pathetic anymore.”

“Hey, I'm still your commanding officer,” she says. “A little respect would be nice after almost getting myself killed to save the rest of your asses.”

Joker grins. “Uh, hello? Who landed a ship in front of a goddamn Reaper to make an emergency pickup of your boyfriend? Always taking the credit.”

If he's tired, if he's grieving, he's hiding it well. “Listen,” she says. “About EDI.”

“Oh, did you want her to conference in? Kaidan seemed to think you wanted to talk privately, so I dismissed her, but if it's for the both of us, I'll get her back. I thought maybe you wanted to confess your love for me or something, and that can get a little awkward-”

Shepard knows she can't hide the surprise on her face as she interrupts. “She's...?” Alive? Functional? Unsure what word to use, she trails off. Joker is nonplussed.

“She's here. Well. Not her body. Tali says it's trashed, but it shouldn't be too hard to get her a new one.”

“Possibly a less objectifying one,” says EDI's voice. “Hello, Shepard.”

“As long as you don't want to walk around looking like a geth,” says Joker.

“EDI,” says Shepard. “Joker said the pulse from the Citadel knocked you offline.”

“My system malfunctioned,” says EDI coolly. “Tali was able to save some of my data from backups. The Normandy's data is safe, though my personality and memory systems suffered major losses. Jeff has been filling me in on what I missed.”

“I...thought you were gone,” says Shepard. “I thought I killed you. I...God I'm so...”

“Tali's theory was correct, then,” says EDI. “She guessed that the Crucible might affect all inorganics with Reaper signatures based on my abrupt shutdown. It was a sensible thing to expect, something easy to target.”

“I'm sorry,” blurts Shepard. “I'm glad you're okay, but I'm so, so sorry.”

“Shepard. It is a price we were all willing to pay. You succeeded in your mission to stop the Reapers, and if it had come at my expense, it was still worth the price.”

Shepard's throat is raw and stinging suddenly. She doesn't deserve the casual acceptance, the easy praise, not after what she did, but she bites back the tears. “Thanks, EDI.”

That's as long as she has time for: the QEC loses its connection shortly after. Shepard makes sure all the redness is gone from her eyes before she leaves the room.

 

-

 

From: KAlenko

 

Shepard,

How are you, really? I know you well enough to know when you're not telling the whole truth.

-K

 

From: AShepard

 

I'm dealing. I could send you the laundry list of broken things that the doctors made when they dug me out of the rubble, but it would just worry you, and I've give you enough reason to go gray. Most days aren't great. But finding all of you alive is the best painkiller I could have asked for. I'm out of the hospital, at least. Probably another half dozen surgeries in my future. But I'm alive. I'm even walking now.

How are _you_ , really? You got rammed by a Mako. I know from experience how bad that can be, though I was only ever on the other side.

-S

 

From: KAlenko

 

I don't know how you managed to survive, but I'm grateful. I'll take your word on the list, we can talk about that when I get home, and I'll do whatever it takes to help. How long were you on the Citadel? You weren't walking?

I'm okay. Pain on most days, but that's normal. Migraines, too. Biotics weren't exactly meant to be used putting a ship back together. Chakwas did what she could, but she thinks I'll have some back problems thanks to the Mako incident. Starting to feel a little bad for all the geth you ran over.

It's tough to be here without you. Sometimes I think I hallucinated all your messages and I open my terminal in the middle of the night to make sure it's really true. Please don't get into any life or death situations til I get back, okay?

I miss you.

-K

 

From: AShepard

 

I didn't ask how long I was in the rubble. Hours, at least, but it was all a little hazy. I was in a coma for around three weeks. Lost the use of my legs for a while, still trying to get back onto my feet. Miranda has been taking care of me; she came to Earth chasing TIM. Looks like I owe her an even bigger debt now.

Don't strain yourself. If it takes a little longer for you to get here, I'll bear the wait if it means you get here safely. We'll make quite the pair, limping around Earth together.

This is weird. I'm sorry, the last few messages I tried to write to you were after Horizon, and, well, they were a little different in tone. I miss you, too.

-S

 

From: KAlenko

 

Thank Miranda for me, too. Remember our conversation about Cerberus? She's one of those good people.

I hate the thought of you sitting there in pain and there's nothing I can do to help. I know I should just be grateful that you're okay, that you'll get better, but it's hard to know you're so close but so far away. But you're alive. We'll finally have the time together we thought we wouldn't get.

You wrote me another letter in the interim. A real letter. I haven't parted from it since I found it.

What is it like on Earth? I'm almost afraid to ask.

-K

 

From: AShepard

 

It's not pretty here. That's the kindest way to describe it. I'm lucky enough to still be lodging with the Alliance, and we get a good deal of electricity. The rest of the city, what's left of it, isn't as lucky. There's a lot of damage, of course. The hospitals are packed- the war isn't over just because the fighting's stopped. Now it's a battle to get supplies to people, to rebuild, and all I can do is sit here and watch, useless as a child. It's frustrating. You know me, you know I can't sit still when there's work to be done, but now I don't have a choice. It's one thing being treated like a hero when you're actually out being heroic. It's another to be treated like a hero when you're sitting on the sidelines watching everyone else work.

Once I can walk again, I'll help. I don't know how yet. There has to be something I can do, something beside the meet-and-greet parade.

I'm glad to be alive, don't get me wrong. But I didn't fight this war from a wheelchair and I don't intend to move past it without doing my damnedest to help.

Why aren't you back yet? I'm surrounded by people, but it's as lonely as if I wasn't. I've only ever had one home, and being away from it is more tiring than learning to walk again.

Throw out that letter.

-S

 

From: KAlenko

 

Shepard. Don't push yourself. I know how you're feeling. That's who you are- always trying to lend a hand, always have to be doing something. Right now your main focus has to be recovery. You almost died- you deserve a little time to relax. No one thinks any less of you for taking that time.

And you wouldn't think any less of people in your same position, would you? So please, don't beat yourself up over this. Contrary to popular belief, you don't have to personally save the world every time. I know that's hard to believe, given recent events, but they can cope without you for a little while.

We're trying hard to get back. The ship has seen better days. Once we get her into dock, she'll be ready for a nice long retrofit. There's nothing to worry about, though- Adams says she's holding together fine, and Joker swears he'll bring us all back alive or die trying- which isn't as reassuring as he probably meant it to be. The repairs will hold, though. We made sure of it.

We're about two weeks out now. Two more weeks and we'll be landing on Earth. It's hard to believe. I'm so ready for it, Shepard. This feels like it's been the longest tour in history and some nights it feels like I barely close my eyes before I have to get up and deal with something else. I don't know how you did it all those years, between the original Normandy and your work with Cerberus and then the Reaper war. You're something else, you know that? I'm sure I've told you that before, but I had to remind you. You're amazing.

Rest. Relax. We're coming home to you.

And I'll never throw out that letter.

-K

 

 


	55. Chapter 55

2187 – Vancouver

May

 

Shepard can't sleep.

The courtyard outside is empty and silent, the night is warm and clear. She lowers herself onto a bench, stretching her bad leg out in front of her, and leans back to look at the stars. Discomfort stirs in her belly, but she forces it down. She is not a navigator, can't tell one star from another, doesn't know which she visited in her old life, which shone down clear and warm on distant worlds and which blazed harshly on battle-scarred ground. Ships pass overhead, too high to be docking but triggering that rapid-fire beat of her heart, as though she'll spot tomorrow's arrival half a day early.

Despite herself, she misses it all.

It's the freedom, she knows, shaking off the shackles that keep her chained to the ground, the expanse of space wide-open and empty and full and beckoning, the promise of adventure and discovery. In her mind she belongs there, but her body, tired and beaten, yearns for the earth beneath her feet.

She hates the confinement.

The air is cool against her face, though it still smells like smoke. Crickets drone in the overgrown grass and brush, oblivious to the destruction above. Flowers push their bright heads towards the sky in a riot of color. She doesn't remember the last time she stopped to look at something so simple in a galaxy where everything is so complicated.

"You did what you had to," she reminds herself.

_"You're a murderer,"_ says Ashley, who is beside her on the bench.

Shepard squeezes her eyes shut, willing the ghost to disappear. Sometimes it helps. Today it doesn't. The familiar voice echoes in her ears, voicing every awful thought she can't get rid of.

_"What makes you better than everyone who died? What makes you deserve to be here now when so many are gone? When you killed them?"_

She can feel the expanse of space above as clearly as if it were pressing down on her, a weight on her shoulders, the combined deaths of everyone who perished fighting the Reapers, countless billions of fingers pointing in her direction, eyes gleaming from the darkness harsh and judging, and Ash at the forefront.

_You could have been quicker, you could have tried harder. How many people died every minute you were out there, and you still had the audacity to sleep, to laugh, to spend your time in any manner that didn't directly help the resistance?_

_You killed those people as surely as any Reaper did, Shepard. Your hands are covered in the blood of a dozen races._

She folds in on herself, breath coming in short gasps. She deserves this, she knows, this crushing pain in her chest, the blame of the universe for what happened when she was on the Citadel. She made the impossible choice and it was the wrong one.

“There was no right choice,” she pants.

She tried, she _tried_ to stop it. She gave everything she could. Is it truly so wrong that she lived, that she limped away when so many died? Does she deserve to be one of the ones who survived when she could have done so much more?

The Citadel is rising, that glimmer of silver in the sky that makes her shudder to look at. It's too late to get inside to avoid it. She doesn't realize she's on the ground until someone touches her shoulder, a concerned stranger wondering why she's shivering under a bench.

 

-

 

Shepard can count the number of times she saw the Normandy dock from the outside with one hand, but she knows now it's the most beautiful sight in the world.

Cheers erupt from all around her, drowning out of the whine of cameras floating above them as the ship glides into dock, worse for the wear but no less stunning. She rises painfully from the wheelchair onto slightly unsteady legs, Mrs. Alenko's hand on her elbow, aware of the eyes watching her as the airlock slides open.

Alliance soldiers rush to assist, but Liara brushes past them without stopping, without glancing at them, and gives a short cry as she holds her arms out to Shepard and embraces her.

It's not exactly protocol, but no one is about to chide her on military manners now. She holds Liara tightly, embraces Tali and Garrus the same when they meet her next, sheds a few tears on Joker's shoulder when he hugs her as delicately as she's always had to touch him. And then everyone is there, crowding around her for a handshake, a hug, a pat on the shoulder (Javik settles himself with a curt nod) and she's weeping in earnest by the time Kaidan disembarks.

Mrs. Alenko reaches her son first, bursting into tears when he leans down to hold her. She watches him kiss the top of his mother's head, clasp her hands in his, and Shepard meets his smile with her own when he releases her.

She can only take a handful of steps before he's there, wrapping her in his arms in a tight embrace, nearly knocking her off her feet. For a moment she doesn't react, still stunned at his presence, at the culmination of so many miserable nights, so many imagined horrors, then her hands fist in the fabric of his shirt. She can feel the frantic beat of his heart against her chest, his rough fingers cradling the back of her head, his ragged breath against her neck. The familiar clean scent of his soap, the military issued clothes detergent wash over her. Tears are dripping down her face but she can't say anything.

“My God,” he says into her hair. “My God. It's you. I thought you were...I couldn't believe until I saw you...”

He holds her back at arm's length to reassure himself, his face glistening with tears, his mouth struggling between laughing and crying.

“I can't believe you're really here,” he whispers.

“It would take more than that to get rid of me,” she says, her right hand moving up to stroke the side of his face, the new scars there. People are watching, she knows, and she knows just as well that she doesn't care. He kisses her forehead, the scar that cuts through her eyebrow, the burn scar on her right cheek.

“This seems ridiculous to ask, but never do that to me again.”

She laughs finally, for the first time in a long time.

“I don't think you'll have to worry about that,” she replies.

“Just in case,” he says. “Marry me.”

There's a buzzing in her ears, and the roar of voices around them fades out. For a moment it's just the two of them, a private moment in the center of the crowd, his face shining with tears, her hands trembling in his. She doesn't ask if he means it, if it's an automatic response, if he's thought it through. The intensity in his eyes says it all.

She can hardly say no after all that.

Their reunion kiss is sweet and a little desperate, redolent of the first kiss they shared in her quarters the night before Ilos. Later, Joker will describe it as "obscene and just, really gross, you two." Miranda, "a little much," and Liara frankly calls it "slightly unchaste." Javik insists that it's “primitive and unappealing, but overdue.” The Alliance decides it's not over the line enough to chastise the saviors of the galaxy. Shepard calls it perfect.

 


	56. Chapter 56

2187 – Vancouver

June

 

Kaidan had assumed, somewhat naively, in retrospect, that getting back to Shepard would be the hardest part.

The harsh reality of repairing an entire galaxy hadn't slipped his mind, an easy retirement hadn't been on his radar. Life would be hard for a while, there was no getting around that. He had just figured on Shepard being there beside him for the roughest parts.

Instead, she is the roughest part.

His parents' place on the bay- his mother's place, now- is mostly undamaged, and the little repairs he can do himself. With the three of them there it's homey, though the hole his father's absence leaves is still raw. He and Shepard both have trouble climbing the stairs to the second floor, so they take the ground floor guest room. It's nothing short of a miracle to be sharing a bed with Shepard again, to curl around her familiar body, breathe in her familiar scent and thank all the forces in the universe that returned her to his arms. Just sitting next to her at the dinner table or feeling her hand find his knee makes his heart skip, having her so close and safe is a wish come true.

But she's restless.

He hadn't expected her to shrug off the war, to go back to the woman she once was, to smile and laugh easily so quickly. He's not a fool- he knows the toll war takes on a person, and Shepard has taken so much of it onto her own shoulders that it's stunning she can so much as open her mouth without breaking down. But she's different, and it gnaws at him. She's quiet in a way she never was before, her eyes growing distant and glassy at times, and she startles when he places a hand on her arm to bring her back. He knows she reads the worry in his eyes, smiles to distract him, kisses him to reassure him. She's evasive when he asks about the end of the war, like she distrusts him, when before she would ask for his opinion after every mission. He notices in bits and pieces at first: the absence of her hearty laughter, the unconscious way she touches the burn scars on the side of her face, the way she only ever seems to be on the outskirts of conversations, looking in but rarely participating. But when the rest of the crew moves on (and they do move on, most to be welcomed back to their fleets as heroes) she seems to stop functioning entirely.

She eats little and sleeps less. She has nightmares when she does sleep, nods off over dinner when she doesn't. Some nights he wakes to find her missing from their bed, asleep or awake somewhere else in the house. Normally it's the sofa, passed out like it's shore leave, but more than once he finds her in the kitchen, standing at the windows and staring out into the night. Another time he turns the house upside down, terrified that she's gone missing, and finds her asleep in the hall closet, huddled in a ball.

“Don't worry,” she tells him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I'm fine. Really.”

She's not fine.

The Alliance has plenty of work for him: rebuilding is the first priority, of course. There are still people sleeping in camps, in tents, with nowhere else to go. There are still people missing, thousands, millions maybe, who haven't been accounted for, who probably never will be, but an attempt has to be made nonetheless. Supply lines are broken, resources are scarce, and he finds that biotics are just as useful for aiding construction as for fighting. It's a different kind of fight after all, he decides, but maybe one he prefers. It still pains him to look out over the battle-scarred city, the ruins of places he once loved. It still hasn't sunk in that his father is gone, and there may well never be any answer to what happened to him. But it's heartening to see the rebuilding, the survivors banding together to do what they can, to offer whatever help they're able. Maybe it won't be like it once was- nothing will, nothing could be- but it will be _something_.

"What did you do today?" Shepard asks him one evening about three weeks after their reunion, when he's returned from a military run operation to repair a crumbling hospital. There are still bags under her eyes, the mark of sleepless nights that he somehow can't picture her without, as though they have always been there. Has she rested at any time in the past three years?

"We're on track to have the hospital repaired by next week," he replies. There's a low throb in his head, but it's a good pain- terrible, but good all the same. "After that we'll be reinforcing some of the nearby housing for refugees. There are a few hotels that will come in handy with a little work."

"Anything I can help with?" He doesn't miss the eagerness under her casual tone. She's dying to get out of the house, to do something to help, but there's little she can do in her current state. It's killing her, he knows, being so limited.

"I'm sure if you showed up to the work site it would boost morale," he says. She smiles, but it's brief and her eyes go dull again.

"You sound like Hackett," she replies. "I just want to help. This is..."

She trails off, dropping her hands into her lap and looking down at herself in frustration. He doesn't envy her that pain, that anger and helplessness that she's never had cause to feel before because she could always depend on herself. He would take it from her if he could.

"You _have_ helped," he tells her. "You've earned a break."

She shakes her head. "Not when there's so much to be done, and all I can do is sit around like..."

"Like someone who was badly injured," his mother finishes. "And what of all the other people who were hurt, who need to recover? Should they feel the same way?"

"No," mutters Shepard.

"Then why do you?"

He understands, though. She's been through so much, always moving, always fighting, ever since she was a teenager on Mindoir. In the years that have passed between she's forgotten how to relax, how to do things for herself, how to just stop once in a while. He wonders how to lift that weight from her shoulders, convince her that it's okay to take it easy, that she doesn't have to feel ready to run all the time anymore, that she can leave some of that baggage with him and he'll carry it for her.

"I don't know," says Shepard. "They aren't me."

They sit to eat dinner. It's not much- food is rationed until the supply lines are reestablished, but the Alliance provides them well enough. Shepard picks at her food, as usual, and they make small talk over the table while he tries to ease the oncoming migraine into a more manageable ache.

Shepard falls asleep before dinner is finished, chin against her chest. It's painful to see her like this, somehow more hopeless than she was during the war, and he doesn't understand why. She's been hurt before and just poured herself into the physical therapy to make up for it. But now it's like she's given up, the spark of determination that burned so brightly has gone out.

"You need to do something about her," says his mother softly. “She's miserable, and I don't think she's keeping up with her therapy.”

"I don't know what to do," he confesses. "She won't talk to me. I get the smiles, the laughs, but there's nothing behind them. She was never like this. She was...vibrant. I know she's hurting, I know this war was a huge toll on her, but there's more to it. There has to be."

"I think you need to involve a professional," she tells him, her voice still gentle. "She's not getting better on her own, and you can't nursemaid her all hours of the day. You look just as tired some days."

And he knows- God does he ever know. But convincing Shepard to do something she doesn't want to do is like fighting a Reaper single-handedly- and only she can do that.

 


	57. Chapter 57

Once again, the bed is empty when he wakes, and in the darkness it takes a moment to remember that she's alive, that he's not back in those dark years when she was gone, not back on that strange planet with no idea whether she'd survived the blast or not. She's safe- alive, at least, if not as safe as he'd like. He rises with a groan, extends his bad leg and gets out of bed with difficulty.

The house is silent but for the creaks of the floor as he pads through the hall in the dark, navigating by memory.

Through the bay window in the living room he can see Shepard immediately, a small figure with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, sitting in the grass of the front yard, head tilted up at the night sky. She doesn't flinch when he opens the door, doesn't move as he approaches and gingerly lowers himself to the ground next to her. It's a clear night, the sky unclouded and untouched by the old glow of the city that doesn't exist anymore. The light of the stars glints in her eyes.

She needs this, he knows. In some way, she needs to be sitting here, needs to feel space above her head and the ground solid under her feet, but whether it's helping or hurting her, he's not sure. She is made of stars, a human birthed and raised in space, now stranded on a home planet that has never been home. He wonders if he would be strong enough to let her go back, if she were to ask. He hopes she doesn't.

"If you watch," she says, her voice barely audible, "you can see the ships landing. Streaks of light to the Citadel." She points. The glimmer of silver is visible, a speck in the sky hardly bigger than the field of stars behind it.

"They're rebuilding, too," he says.

She says nothing for a moment. Then she sighs.

"I should have died up there."

"No," he says.

"I should have. I almost did. Is it so terrible, so selfish to want to live? If I gave everything I had to the Alliance, to Earth, to the galaxy, is it wrong to want that one thing in return? Is it wrong to want to be happy? To just...wash my hands of the stress and pain and anger and be a normal fucking person for once?"

"What you gave to end this war is more than anyone could have asked of you," he replies softly. "No one can fault you for wanting some peace and quiet. I don't think there was ever a time in your life when you weren't running, Shepard. This stability, this lull, it's unfamiliar to you. And that's okay. It's something you'll get used to. Things will get better."

"When does it get better, Kaidan?" she asks, voice cracking. "I thought the war would end and everything would be okay. I thought I'd be okay. I don't know why I'm not."

"I don't think it all gets better at once," he says. "It does, in bits and pieces, like anything else. It's slow. But if you expect it all to be perfect immediately, you'll be miserable, because that doesn't happen. You have to take it as it comes. You're here. I'm here. We're alive, and we're safe. We're working every day to provide that safety to others. And sometimes we win, and those are good days. Sometimes we don't, and we just have to try harder."

"But it doesn't end," says Shepard sadly. "We think it does, and then there's something else, another reason for another war. There's always something to fight over. This is a lull between battles. War will come again, sooner than we expect, and what will any of this mean then?"

"It means a hell of a lot to everyone who gets to live and keep living, Shepard. What kind of question is that?"

"I just...wonder what the point is, sometimes."

"You fought tooth and nail for years to reach this point. You died at least once to get here, fighting for a cause you believed in. This pessimism...I don't understand it. It's not like you."

She looks down, away from the stars now, into the grass around the edges of her blanket.

"If there was...a way to prevent this from happening, to prevent it from ever happening again, a way to keep everyone living in peace, wouldn't you want it, no matter the cost?"

Her words are stilted but forced out like she's been dying to say them, and though he still doesn't quite understand the reason behind it, he ponders her question while trying to decipher the cause of the misery in her expression.

"It's terrible to say, but if you're talking about total galactic peace, I don't think it could happen. There are too many different species, too many different cultures, laws, opinions...there are always going to be disagreements. Yes, maybe they'll lead to wars. But hopefully in the wake of what's happened, with the effort you put into making alliances, they'll think about working towards a common goal instead of getting hostile. It's tenuous, like anything else in life. But if everything was guaranteed, what's the point in living?"

"What if...you could erase all those differences? Make everyone the same?"

Her voice is small now, but she's watching him from the corner of her eye.

"For the sake of peace, you mean? Hell, Shepard. The galaxy...it's like a bunch of puzzle pieces. Some of them fit together, some of them don't. And that's fine, because when you put them all in place they form something greater. You can't force some pieces together, but that doesn't make either of them wrong, just different. Each one is still part of the bigger picture.

"Now you could sand down the edges and make them all fit if you really wanted to, but then the picture is all wrong. You can paint over them all, but then it's all artificial. And yes, even then there will be fights. There will be wars, because that's just what people, even aliens, do. There's no such thing as perfection. There's just what is, and we have to make the best of it, find the beauty in the little things around us, in the differences between us and the similarities."

She tilts her head to look at him finally, a crease in her forehead between her eyebrows. It's an expression he remembers all too well, the intensity of her eyes, the way they seem to pick him apart.

"If that makes sense at all to you," he finishes.

"You know, it actually helps a little," she replies, one corner of her mouth twitching into what might be a smile. "I'm still not sure what I did was right, or if I should have done things differently, but it helps."

She offers him the end of her blanket, and he scoots closer, pressing against her side and draping it around himself as well.

"I assume you have a reason for all these questions?" he asks.

Her head tilts back towards the sky. "Yeah."

"For what it's worth, I know you did the right thing," he says, following her gaze back to the tiny dot where she almost died, almost blinked out of existence yet again. He wants to visit again, when it's fully operational, when there are shuttles for visitors, to find the place where she clung to life and kiss the ground in gratitude.

"How do you know?" she asks.

"Because we're sitting here. Because you always do. Even when it's hard. Even when you're not sure. I'm sure I've told you before how much I admire that about you."

A compliment rarely goes wrong, but he's sure a hint of moisture glistens in her eyes before she averts her gaze again.

"I hope you're right," she says softly.

There's silence for a long moment before he asks, "do you want to talk about it?"

There's an even longer silence before she shakes her head and sighs.

"I do," she says. "I want to talk about it more than anything. I want to get it out, let someone else hear it, anyone, so I stop playing it over in my head, trying to figure out if I did the right thing, if I could have done better, but I can't. I don't even know how much of it was real. I...God, I was delirious for half of it, half-dead for the rest, but...there's no way to know what really happened, is there?"

He slides an arm around her shoulders and draws her close.

"You could try," he suggests.

"Even if I do...if what I think happened really did happen...I'm afraid you would hate me."

"Hate you? I couldn't hate you. Hell, if you'd left me on Virmire or shot me on the Citadel, I wouldn't have hated you."

She's stiff under his arm, her shoulders tense and sharp.

"Maybe this is beyond me," he admits. "Your memories are still tangled, and that's okay. You don't have to work them out alone. Maybe we should ask Liara for help."

"Liara?"

"She knows you better than anyone else, and if you let her, maybe she could find out what happened from your memories."

"I don't want her to hate me, either," she says dully, but she's considering it. "Do you think she would be able to do that? Tell me which memories are real and which I'm making up?"

"It's worth a try, don't you think?"

“Maybe. I don't want to bother her. It's stupid, isn't it, that I can't handle it myself?”

“You've always had friends to help you through before.”

He feels her relax against him. “I guess. I'll think about it.”  
  


-

 

Maybe some of it helped, because she sleeps for the rest of the night. In the haze of the early morning light, halfway between awake and asleep, he feels her pressed against his back, soft and warm, and her fingers skim the inside of his hip just above the waistband of his pajama pants. An accident, maybe, an innocent position made precarious by the careless drape of her arm around him. He sighs, and feels her chuckle against his shoulder, warm breath against the back of his neck. Ah. Not so accidental, then.

"Don't tease me, Shepard," he murmurs sleepily.

"Who's teasing?" she asks, humor simmering just below the surface as she plants a slow, deliberate kiss on the back of his neck and slides her hand under his waistband. His breath hitches.

He's weak to her, he knows. She knows it, too. And despite his protests he would let her tease him any time and be grateful for the experience.

It's been months since she touched him. He remembers it clearly, what he thought would be the last time, the night before London, trying to pack a lifetime's worth of desire into a single evening, trying to burn the memory into his brain. It had still been over too quickly, spoiled by the fear of what was to become of them, of Earth, of the galaxy. Now he has a chance to right those wrongs.

He gently halts her bold fingers, turning over to face her, and presses a kiss against her mouth as their bodies settle against each other again, tangled in a mess of sheets and blankets. She wrinkles her nose and laughs again, low in her chest.

"You need to brush your teeth," she says, though fondly.

"So do you," he replies, turning his attention to her neck instead, the warm pulse of her heartbeat fluttering under his lips, the hollow of her throat where it dips into the collar of her nightshirt. She sighs, threads her fingers through his hair as his hand moves lazily up her side, under her shirt and over too-prominent ribs.

Under his fingertips, the skin is scarred here, raised and twisted. She sucks in a breath when he touches her there, her body going stiff against his as he slowly drags the hem of her shirt up.

He hasn't seen her scars, the newest ones. She flatly refuses to let him see her undress, wears long sleeves at all times to keep her body hidden. The left side of her chin and neck are slightly marred, darker where she took the brunt of the explosion on the Citadel, and as he slides the nightshirt up and over her head he sees that the burns extend down most of her left arm and part of her side.

She's watching him, that old guarded look in her eyes, for any expression he dares to betray. He doesn't. He kisses the ridge of her collarbone, her left shoulder, the tender spot inside her elbow. He lifts her fingers in his, draws her hand to him and kisses the sharp bumps of her knuckles where they're long scarred from hardsuit gloves. He would run his fingers down every scar she has, if she let him, marveling at how many times she came so close to death and managed to return to him regardless.

"You're alive," he says. "I'm so glad you're alive."

"I love you," she says thickly, sounding close to tears. He can count on his fingers the number of times she's said that to him, and it still thrills him to hear it.

“Do you know what it does to me when you say that?” he says with half a groan, bending to kiss the swell of a breast.

“I can _feel_ what it does to you,” she replies wryly. “I might have to remind you every so often.”

“Remind me all the time,” he suggests.

“That could get awkward,” she replies. “Especially in public. But hell, as long as we're here: I love you.”

He kisses her again, hard on the mouth, heedless of her protesting laugh, and rolls on top of her.

What he'd meant to be soft and slow quickly turns vigorous and loud; Shepard is always noisy but he doesn't have the heart to urge her to be quiet after all they've been through. She shrieks with laughter at the squeal of springs the mattress makes beneath them and it's almost like old times again, made better with the knowledge that they aren't going to walk into danger the next day, that he won't be at risk of losing her.

She's still laughing when he rests his head against her chest, her hands stroking his temples where his hair is gray.

"I'm going to have to apologize to your mother," she says.

"You'd better, because I'm not going to ever be able to look her in the eyes again," he replies.

"You're a grown man, and we're engaged," she points out. "It would be weirder if we weren't doing it."

"That's probably not what she wants to hear."

"'Congratulations on your son with the perfect ass, and sorry about breaking your guest bed.'"

"We didn't break the bed."

Shepard hums. "Well, not _yet_."  
  


 


	58. Chapter 58

The Council calls on them three days later.

It's heartening to see the fire jump back into Shepard's eyes at the idea of having something to occupy her, though privately Kaidan doesn't know what sort of work they have in mind for a woman still recovering from injuries as bad as hers were. She's graduated from the wheelchair to a cane, which she regards with disdain even as heavily as she sometimes needs to lean upon it. At the spaceport now, Kaidan offers his arm instead, and she is content to lean on him.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asks her. There are eyes everywhere seeking her out, peering curiously around their Alliance guards for a glimpse of her. She straightens her back and squeezes his arm, and for a moment she's the same woman he knew three years ago, intense and focused on what lies ahead.

"I'm fine," she says. Outside the glass walls of the spaceport, their shuttle drifts down for a landing. He follows its path with his eyes, glancing up to where the Citadel is visible above, arms open like a flower. Her gaze follows his, her fingers are tight on his bicep.

"Shall we?"

She nods, but when he steps forward, she doesn't step with him. Viselike, she remains clutching his arm, but her heels are firmly planted and her face, when he half-turns to look at her, is pale.

"I can't," she says.

It's perhaps the last two words he expected to hear from her lips, something that she's likely never said before, and the admission is painful. Eyes wide, she draws back, and her fingers slip from where they rested inside his elbow.

"Shepard," he says uncertainly.

"I can't," she repeats. "I can't go up there. I can't go back. I'm sorry. I can't."

Her voices rises in volume and pitch and breaks at the end. Without the support of his arm she sinks to the ground, and he moves forward to steady her, hands gripping trembling shoulders.

"I can't go up there, Kaidan, I can't do it, not again, not there."

He crouches at her side.

"It's all right," he tells her, trying to calm her and block the crowd's view at the same time. If she hears him she doesn't respond, folding in on herself until her face is hidden in her hands, knees drawn up to her chest, her breath coming quick and frantic.

"No one's going to make you go," he says.

"I have to," she says.

"You don't. You can stay here. You don't ever have to go up there if you don't want to."

Agonized, her face reappears, damp with tears.

"I have to," she repeats in a whisper.

"No."

She makes to stand, but between her weakened legs and her agitation, she doesn't make it far. He strokes her hair when she comes back down, defeated, and she draws a shuddering breath.

"I want to go," she says. "I want to, so goddamn much, but I just..."

She clings to him tightly. He has a brief glimpse of her breakdown after Virmire, the way she'd broken into pieces and sobbed, the way she let him comfort her. He whispers soft words to her, trying to calm her.

"It's okay. Let's go home," he tells her.

"You have to go," she replies. "Don't let me hold you back."

The idea of abandoning Shepard at the spaceport after she had a panic attack does not sit well with him.

"Shepard, it's all right. Let me take you home. You'll feel better once you get to rest, okay?"

A spark blazes back to life in her troubled eyes. "Don't you dare throw your career away on me, Alenko," she says, and her voice is steady and hard. "Go. Get on the shuttle. I'll be fine here, I promise."

And he hesitates.

A small smile, perhaps not as determined as it might be, makes a brief appearance on her face. She stands up carefully, using his shoulder to brace herself as they both rise.

"I don't want to leave you here," he says.

"I took care of myself for a long time without your help," she says, her palm sliding along his shoulder and down his arm, smoothing his jacket. "It's just for a few hours."

He kisses her. When he pulls back, she gives him a playful swat on the rear.

"Get out there and protect the galaxy," she tells him.

It's hell walking away from her. When he glances over his shoulder she's still smiling at him, though it's tight.

He's on the shuttle by the time she finally sinks into a chair, and doesn't see her bury her face in her hands.  
  


-

It's more or less what he expected- the Council taking stock of their remaining Spectres, putting together a plan of action to repair the Citadel, to combat hoarding and looting, to oversee that the remaining citizens of the Citadel get the help they need. A large portion of the station survived the war mostly intact. The rest is in varying states of shambles and rubble.

And they are running low on Spectres, too.

Without Shepard they are down to one human, seven asari, four turians and two salarians. Various others remain cut off from the Citadel by the inoperative relays, even more perished in the war. The Council seems disappointed by Shepard's absence, though understanding enough of the circumstances. Understanding only stretches so far, however, and the truth is painfully clear even without their knowledge of her current mental state: Shepard no longer has the stamina to work in a Spectre's capacity.

Kaidan doesn't look forward to informing her of this development.

For his part, as the now sole human Spectre it's his job to be the branch between the Council and the human population of the Citadel. A new human councilor must be elected in the wake of Udina's death, but it's low priority considering everything else to be dealt with. Kaidan will stand in well enough for the moment. It trumps his duty to the Alliance, and it means a shuttle ride every morning and every evening if he plans to remain at home, or he can room on the Citadel if he prefers. He doesn't relish telling Shepard that, either.

As a Spectre, no one questions when he suits up and goes searching the station. Surprisingly little has changed in the wake of the war, no more than after Saren's attack a few years ago. Police presence is high but businesses continue to run and people continue to live.

He checks the marker on his omni-tool and leaves the brightly lit districts behind for the twisted back alleys and construction signs.

Keepers brush by him without notice as he enters the tunnels, following the coordinates he set deeper into the heart of the Citadel. Down here it's dark but clean, no sign of the destruction that plagues the rest of the station. The walls are smooth and unmarked, the floors even and glossy. His flashlight leads him deeper still, until the only sounds he can hear are his own heavy footsteps and the beat of his heart in his ears.

Slowly, his surroundings turn again to crumbling walls and pieces of debris. The keepers are hard at work here but have made little headway with the amount of repairs to be done. He pushes past them and continues until his omni-tool beeps softly in the darkness.

Even without the beacon he would have known this was the place. The footprints of Alliance soldiers are visible all along the floor, in dust and dirt and yes, blood.

He kneels in the pile of rubble and tilts his flashlight down. Behind him, a kinetic barrier wavers but holds, the stars bright in the distance. There's a piece of charred hardsuit here, a dried puddle of blood stained into the floor. Scorch marks mar the walls.

He touches the stained floor, imagining what it was like for her to lie here, staring out into space, helpless and hurt, bleeding to death and knowing there was no rescue coming, having watched her mentor die, having told her crew to leave her, the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders.

“Thank you,” he says. He's not sure to who, but someone had to have been looking out for her, someone had to ensure her survival: Ashley, maybe. It seems right to credit Ash for saving Shepard's life.

 

-

 

Shepard hardly says a word when he tells her that her status has been revoked.

The exhaustion on her face grows more pronounced, the half-smile she gives him becomes even less sincere, but she doesn't rage or rant against the Council.

“I'm not surprised,” she says. She's standing at the kitchen sink, leaning against the counter, slicing potatoes into chunks. Her fingers can manage the knife well enough, if not as well as they used to. “I can't exactly resume my Spectre duties when I can barely walk and I'm afraid to visit the Citadel. They're going to need all the help they can get.”

_Another thing this war has taken from me,_ she doesn't say. His eyes linger on the knife and he has the crazy urge to take it out of her hands.

“I saw your...where they found you,” he says, and her shoulders tense. A piece of potato slips her fingers and falls into the sink with a clunk.

“Why?”

“I don't know. I thought I should.”

She is silent, and he regrets telling her. _Because I needed to pay my respects,_ he thinks. _Because you could have died there and that bloodstain would have been all that was left for me to see. Because I needed to thank every beam and every wall and every tile that kept you alive when I thought you were gone._

He doesn't say any of that.

“It doesn't matter,” she says, before he can think of something else to say. “I'm sure the Alliance will cut me loose soon enough, too. No idea why they're waiting to discharge me when I'm clearly not capable of returning to duty.”

It's a moment before he realizes that she's choosing to ignore what he said about the Citadel. She gives a violent jerk to the colander to rinse the potatoes.

“I spoke to a doctor on the Citadel,” he tells her. “A therapist. About you.”

Again she doesn't speak, so he continues.

“He's willing to shuttle back to Earth to talk to you once regular service starts up again. They're estimating a month.”

“If you think it will help.”

She doesn't look at him, and her voice isn't particularly encouraging, but he's willing to accept it as a win.

 


	59. Chapter 59

2187 – Vancouver

July

 

The month drags by.

Once utilities are established at their house on the bay, the two of them move back to the Alliance housing in the city. It's closer to the spaceport, safer to guard against the prying eyes of reporters, and gives them a little more privacy. Shepard enjoys being in the midst of the Alliance soldiers again, privy to the latest news and rumors. It cheers her to see the efforts of the soldiers, to talk to them and hear their stories, and while Kaidan is busy on the Citadel it keeps her occupied.

She watches the news raptly. Alliance ships are repurposed to shuttle supplies to the allied fleets stuck in their solar system, to haul raw materials to rebuild on Earth, to collect the brightest minds from each of the fleets and take them to study the Charon relay, cold and dead and dark where it lies on the outskirts of the solar system. When the latest estimated death tolls roll across the screen, she averts her eyes. When the quarian scouts dock with the geth ships to investigate them, she buries her face in her hands and lets out a long, shaky sigh.

“They haven't reached a decision yet,” says Tali when Shepard calls, priority to the Quarian Heavy Fleet. “Representatives from the entire fleet are voting on what to do. Many are opposed to giving the geth another chance, but even most of those realize that having the geths' help would make repairs to the relays go much faster. Even those who hate the geth savor the idea of seeing Rannoch again in their lifetimes.”

“The geth helped win us this war,” argues Shepard.

“I know that, Shepard. But they also allied with the Reapers twice. There are still worries about their dependability, and that's assuming they can be reprogrammed at all, let alone if we can recover the data that was lost when the crucible shut them down.”

 _When I killed them_ , thinks Shepard. _When I weighed their lives against stopping the Reapers and chose to murder them._

“Don't you have any pull?”

“Yes, actually. It turns out that winning an unwinnable war means the Admiralty Board gives extra weight to my suggestions. But the decision isn't mine to make alone.”

She swallows. “And what was your vote?”

“Are you kidding me, Shepard? Yes, with the geth gone we could reclaim our homeworld, when we finally get there. But with their help? We can rebuild, we can readapt! I don't want to die on this flotilla, having never seen Rannoch again. Not when there's a better option. You and Legion showed me that option, and I'm doing everything in my power to convince the Board of the same.”

Emotion chokes Shepard's voice to a mere squeak. “I'm proud of you, Tali.”

Tali gives an incredulous chuckle. “Of me? You saved the galaxy. Convincing some tired old generals to reactivate the geth is nothing!”

“I'm...sorry for what happened to them.”

“You had no idea what the crucible would do,” says Tali gently. It hits Shepard in the pit of her stomach.

 _Sweet, trusting Tali,_ says Ashley's voice, somewhere in the back of Shepard's head. _If you only knew._

She spends most of her days making calls, talking to her old friends and crewmates. Liara is still on Earth, in London with a team of asari who had been deployed there at the end of the war, setting up a temporary information center. Garrus bounces between turian ships, conferring with the captains under the Primarch's orders, taking stock of the fleet. Vega and Cortez remain local, assisting with the Alliance rebuilding efforts, stopping by every now and then to see her. Once in a while she'll get a call from Miranda, checking in, and even Jack called once to confirm she was alive.

In the afternoons, if she's feeling well, she can wrangle a soldier to accompany her up to the surface, to watch the repairs to the Alliance headquarters. It can be a little harder up here- a reporter sneaks in every now and then- but on a clear day from a certain angle she can see the spaceport, the Normandy in dry dock for repairs. Joker is staying near there, she knows; probably sleeping on the ship if they let him. For being the best pilot in the Alliance, he refuses to fly any other ship. She doesn't blame him.

She sits in the grass and gazes at the docks, watching the buzz of activity around the ship. Her omni-tool chirps a warning, the alarm she set to warn her when the Citadel moves into orbit above them again. It embarrasses her to rely on it. Sometimes she bears it, lets it appear in the sky and averts her eyes. Sometimes she can't and retreats to her apartment before it gets too close.

Usually it also means that Kaidan is coming home, and if she stays, she'll see his shuttle arrive.

The shimmering screen of her omni-tool shows the newsreel she's become so dependent on, a feed of the quarian captains debating, their masked faces betraying nothing. She's sure she sees Tali for a split second, the familiar pattern of her suit. Immersed as she is in the debate, she doesn't hear Kaidan approach until he sits in the grass next to her.

“Hi,” he says, pecking her on the cheek. “I thought I might find you here. Did they vote yet?”

She shakes her head.

“They'll make the right decision,” he assures her.

The decision seems to hang on the idea that the geth consensus might travel through the relays, to repair them on either side. Many of the quarians still balk at this idea, afraid it would be like ceding the relays to geth control. Others argue it is the only way to repair the damage in a reasonable time frame. Shepard's stomach turns uncomfortably with guilt. The Council, present for the debate as well, listens stoically from the sidelines.

Her omni-tool chirps. Startled, she answers the call.

“Shepard?”

“Tali? I'm watching the debate right now.”

“Yes. They want you to speak. You had the most contact with the geth, and you were the most involved in the war. As captain, you have the right to speak.”

“I...all right,” says Shepard. She feels the attention of the quarian fleet shift to her. “The geth wish to coexist peacefully. They attack because you attack. Like any other species, they fight for their lives, and you can't fault them for that. I think many of you who were present when they made contact with us on Rannoch will agree that they helped us fight this war. To reactivate them is the least we can do. The help they can give us is secondary. But if you want the relays open again, if you want to live on Rannoch again, if you want to do the decent thing...just give them the chance.”

Because I killed them. Please, give them this chance because I didn't.

“Thank you, Shepard vas Normandy,” says one of the quarian admirals softly. “We appreciate your input.”

It's another hour before they finally put it to vote. She and Kaidan sit huddled together under his jacket as the night grows colder. He has to carry her back by the time they finally vote yes.

 


	60. Chapter 60

2187 – Vancouver

August

 

Once the first relay opens, the others quickly follow. The geth are handy workers, tireless and eager, adept at solving problems and making rational decisions, and they almost effortlessly unlock the routes deeper into the galaxy, so those inhabiting the Sol system can finally, months later, find out what happened to their friends and families at the end of the war.

Now the Alliance calls on Shepard. Every planet wants an interview, a visit, and she is only too happy to oblige. She's welcomed to dozens of cities around the globe, greeted by world leaders. She flies with Wrex back to Tuchanka, to thunderous applause. She steps again onto Rannoch with Tali at her side and a geth entourage flanking them. Thessia welcomes her and Liara and Javik as heroes. Garrus leads her through the ruined cities on Palaven. And she keeps a smile on her face the whole time, lauds the Alliance, and keeps her secrets.

Ironically, the visits and the questions about the end of the war keep her mind too occupied to think about what happened on the Citadel, keep Ashley's voice from ringing in her ears. It's a nice distraction for her mind. Her body doesn't handle it quite as well.

The stress of travel takes its toll. The constant change of environments, the heavy suits, the questionable food, all combine forces against her already weak body. She resorts to crutches again, and finally on Sur'Kesh it hits a breaking point.

It's hot, and Shepard is sweating completely through her dress blues, her hair stuck to her face, her hands slippery on her crutches. She has no comprehension of anything the salarian speaker is saying to her, her mind a haze, that vague smile stuck on her face. He motions her forward to speak, she takes a step, and everything promptly goes black.

“So the whole galaxy saw that, huh?” she asks when Kaidan arrives at the hospital to see her, worry etched in every line on his face. He's still clad in armor, fresh from assignment. “That's embarrassing. Hey, at least I picked a salarian planet for it.”

“This isn't funny,” says Kaidan, crossing his arms. Now that she sees him properly, there's something else mixed with the worry: anger. “You're pushing yourself too hard. The Alliance is sending you to too many places too quickly. You have every right to take a break.”

“I owe the galaxy-”

“You don't owe the galaxy anything!” It's not quite a shout, but loud enough that she flinches in surprise. “You've given them everything you could possibly give. You could ask for a planet of your own and spend the rest of your days sitting on a beach there and it still wouldn't be enough to cover the debt they owe to you!”

“I like it,” she protests. “Staying busy. You know. It helps.”

He sinks into a chair beside her bed. He still looks so tired. The anger has faded, but the worry remains, and she feels more chastened by his exhaustion than his words. She wears on him, she knows. He worries too much about her, and she doesn't make it easy for him. She never has.

“It helps,” he agrees. “But only for so long. Eventually you have to face what you're running from. And you know that. Burning yourself out so you don't have to think isn't healthy. We both know that.”

“What else can I do? This is what the Alliance is asking from me. Something I can actually accomplish. If I tell them no, then what's the point? I'm not this all powerful hero anymore. I did my duty, and now I'm broken and this is the best I can do.”

“You're not broken.”

“I'm sure as hell not whole.”

“You're not broken, but you're not getting better, either. I've been watching you on the news. The fire is in your eyes, but the rest of you can't keep up because you won't take five minutes to rest. Every time I see you, you're thinner, and you're leaning on your crutches more and more when you should be getting stronger. This isn't sustainable. You're going to crash, and you're going to crash hard, and I don't know why you're letting it happen.”

Shepard heaves a sigh and leans back in her bed. The hospital room is clean and spacious and the salarian doctors were even kind enough to adjust the cooling and humidity to more human levels. Outside, the vivid colors of Sur'Kesh stretch across the horizon, and she thinks of all the worlds she's visited, a vast panorama of awe and beauty rolling through her mind.

“Because I don't know what else to do,” she says finally. “This is how I cope. And there's nothing else worthwhile in my life.”

She catches the look on his face before he can reply and amends herself.

“There's you. And that's great, honestly. I love you, and you know that. But you aren't the be-all and end-all of my life. I need more than that. I need to be Shepard again. Because right now I'm just _Audrey_ , and Audrey is that helpless girl on Mindoir who can't do a damn thing for herself, who watched her parents die and ran and hid like a coward while her colony burned around her.”

He shakes his head. "Audrey survived," he says. "Through things that other people can't even dream of facing."

"I can't go back to just surviving," she replies. "It has to mean something. That's who I am. If I'm not fighting, I'm not sure who I am."

They sit in silence for a long time, she with her hands folded in her lap, he with his face in his hands.

"I don't know how to help you," he says finally. "But I can't watch you tear yourself apart."

If she's honest with herself, she's expected this for a long time. Maybe not here and now, but someday, when she's finally broken beyond repair and dragged him down with her. She twists the ring on her finger and doesn't look up.

"And I can't ask you to," she says.

He exhales. She hears it like the cold wind on Noveria.

“So then what do we do?”

"I don't know. I just...maybe Ash was right," she says without thinking. "I'm nothing if not a soldier."

Though she doesn't look, she hears him raise his face from his hands. "What?"

The realization dawns on her, and she doesn't reply.

"Shepard. When did Ash say that to you? _Our_ Ashley?"

"I misremembered," she says shortly, but they've been together too long for him to fall for it, and he's nothing if not stubborn.

"When did she say that?"

 _All the time_ , thinks Shepard. _When I'm alone and when I'm afraid. On the Citadel when I was dying. She hisses the truth in my ear that I'm too scared to speak myself._

"She...never said it. Not really. Not really her. But I hear it, sometimes, in her voice. I see her. Back on the Citadel, she was there. She was with me. She told me I'd be better off dead."

If she expected it to help, expected him to be satisfied with the answer, she was mistaken. At her confession, her admission to the ghost haunting her, something crumbles in his bearing. She's too broken to fix now.

"Shepard. You need more help than I can give you. Please," he says, grabbing her hand with one of his, "please talk to someone. You never backed down from a challenge before. Please do it before you hurt yourself. I don't know what happened on the Citadel to make you like this. I don't know what you saw, what you went through. But I do know that Ashley would never have said that. I've seen her too, Shepard. I've seen her every day since Virmire, and I know, I _know_ she wouldn't say that to you. She never blamed you. I did. You did. But I stopped. The only person still blaming you for Virmire is you."

"It's more than Virmire," says Shepard, her lips barely moving. "It's everything. Everything we've been through, all the people dead, all the batarians and the geth and EDI. Ash was just the start of it. How many people do you think I killed, even if you exclude the batarians? How many people would still be alive if I refused to leave the Council alone about the Reapers?"

"You did what you could," he tells her. "You know that. You never used to agonize over these decisions."

"I never committed genocide before either!" she shouts. "I never chose to kill the Reapers at the expense of every synthetic in the galaxy before, either!"

Kaidan is visibly taken aback. The hand still gripping hers is stiff and motionless. She realizes that tears are sliding down her face and wipes them angrily away with her free hand.

"Is that what this is all about?" he asks finally. There's no malice in his voice, just disbelief, but it's soft as it ever was. "Is that the decision you had to make? That you've been agonizing over?"

"I had a choice," she says, and now the words spill out as though bursting through a dam. "To destroy the Reapers and by extension all of their technology. The geth, upgraded with Reaper tech. I knew it would happen and I chose to do it anyway."

"That's why EDI went offline," he realizes. "Tali was right. She theorized that the pulse that knocked out the Reapers affected their technology. And...and you. All your implants. That's why you were in the hospital for so long.”

“I thought I would die. I figured I would die. I should have. Ash was there, she warned me about this. Told me that I wouldn't be the same. That I'd be haunted by everyone I've killed. And she was right.”

“What else could you have done?” he asks.

And she tells him. She spills everything, the parts she remembers, the parts she made up, the parts she doesn't know. All of it, every last scrap in her brain that she's been stuffing down deep inside herself for months, holding onto his hand like a lifeline. He listens in silence, his brown eyes far away, fixed on the clinically white wall in front of him.

Bizarrely, she feels better just getting it all out, though she dreads his response, knows she deserves any awful thing he says to her. To let it eat at her for so long, to replay it over and over in her head, actually speaking the words out loud is almost cathartic.

“Did I make the right choice?” she says finally, when she's finished. Her voice cracks. Her face is still wet. “What would you have done?”

He stands up, his hand slipping out of hers. Panic rises in her chest for the briefest moment before he's leaning over her, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her hard.

“You did,” he says, “what you felt was right. And that's all that matters.”

“What would you have done?” she asks again, and he responds by kissing her again.

“I don't know,” he says. “Without being there, broken and bleeding, desperate and exhausted, with the single-minded goal of ending a war, I can't tell you what I would have done.”

“That's a cop-out,” she tells him, and he smiles, and she can't help but smile too.

“It is,” he says, and he sits on the side of her bed. “But I get it. Why you didn't tell anyone. Because anyone can say what they would have done in hindsight, without having gone through it. But you told me once, that some memories are like poison.”

“They'll kill you if you keep them to yourself,” she agrees.

“I understand if you have to keep beating yourself up over this. I wish you wouldn't. And I understand why this has affected you so badly. Maybe you'll get through it. Maybe you'll never be completely over it. But I'll be here, Shepard.”

She leans against him. It's so much more than she deserves, she knows, but for the first time she almost feels normal again. Having another person know what happened is such a weight off her shoulders that she feels the tension in her back drain away. It's not perfect- she knows it can't be perfect- but it's something.

 

 


	61. Chapter 61

2187 – Vancouver

September

 

She comes back.

It's slow, it's painstaking, but she comes back, little by little, piece by piece.

Maybe it was finally getting her story out, maybe it's the therapist she's finally talking to, maybe it's the rest she's neglected to take for the entirety of the war. A combination, he's sure. But there are flashes of the old Shepard more often, and more good days than bad before too long.

There are still bad days, of course. He knew there would be. There are days where she won't get out of bed, days when she won't eat, days when she'll do nothing but stare at the wall, or out the window, or into the sky. When it rains she's in so much pain that she can barely hobble between the bedroom and bathroom. But there are also days when she'll laugh about it, marveling that the Reapers got cocky enough to lose to a handful of humans, when she'll credit her success to “an enormous pair of brass balls” to a reporter requesting an interview, when she'll mention that she hopes the actress playing her in the likely upcoming movie has much better hair than the style she's currently sporting.

It's a chill early fall day when his mother comes to visit them. They sit in the Alliance mess, drinking coffee, talking about what still needs done to the house, about the lack of news on his father, about the engagement. There's still one particular subject that rankles her.

“I still don't understand why you call her by her surname all the time,” says Mrs. Alenko in exasperation.

“Habit,” says Kaidan. “And she likes it better. It's not a big deal.”

“It's the celebrity in me,” says Shepard, stirring her coffee, amusement simmering under her words. There's color in her face again, the snap back in her eyes. “One word name. Like Blasto.”

She tuts. “What will you call her when you're married?”

He meets Shepard's eyes, catches the humor there. “Shepard Alenko.”

She snorts into her coffee. “That's Captain Shepard Alenko,” she says. His mother rolls her eyes.

“Speaking of captains,” she says instead, “are you both staying with the Alliance?”

“We haven't really discussed it,” replies Shepard. “Neither of us is in shape for active duty. Once the brass has everything sorted out, we'll have to discuss our options.”

Kaidan has been wondering that, too. While they would be considered on medical leave in any other situation, neither he nor Shepard have been evaluated for a return to service. Even if Shepard could pass the psychological requirements, both of them are looking at a few surgeries apiece before they could pass a physical test.

Retirement would be the obvious option, but he doesn't think she could bear it. Sitting still is not her forte.

“Can you really picture me doing a desk job for the Alliance?” Shepard asks later, while they're getting ready for bed. She leans against the small dresser, her cane propped up nearby, and carefully removes her flats. It's raining now, and all her movements are slowed by the aches and pains that go along with it. “I'd go crazy. Suppose that's all I can do, though.”

“It would be a change,” he agrees. “It might do some good for you to strike fear into the hearts of the Alliance for once.”

She chuckles. “I've terrified damn near everything else in the galaxy, true. Can you give me a hand?”

He's glad to help her, even happier that she's not too proud to ask. He pulls her sweater over her head, holds her steady while she struggles into a nightshirt: still long-sleeved to cover her scarred arm. She's beginning to get her bearings again, but still testing the boundaries of what she's able to do every day, taking the progress as it comes, even though it's slow.

They settle into bed, his arm around her waist. It's quiet for a moment before she speaks.

“Thank you,” she says. “This has been hard on you too, I know. And I sure as hell don't make anything easy. But I know you suffered, and you have nightmares, and you're in pain just like I am, and I'm sorry I wasn't able to be there for you the way you were for me.”

“We can tackle my trauma after yours is taken care of,” he says, and feels her smile.

“I mean it,” she insists. “You don't deserve to have to deal with this when you've gone through the same thing. You shouldn't have to bear my burden in addition to your own. I'm...I'm trying.”

“I know you are,” he says. “You're doing fine. One day at a time, just like we talked about.”

She sighs. He draws her a little closer.

“About the Alliance,” he says hesitantly. “Are you sure that's the right path?”

“There's nothing else I know,” she replies.

His hand finds hers, smooths over the scarred knuckles. “I just...they've taken so much from you.”

She's quiet for a long time. It's not anger, not tension: he can feel those in her, knows the familiar stiffness of her body when she's upset. It's contemplation, maybe: rolling over the events of the past few years in her head, finding the truth there.

“Even after you almost died to save the galaxy, they still run you ragged. They dismissed you until they needed your help, they brushed aside your warnings twice. You've bled for them, suffered for them, died for them, and they still want more,” he continues.

“What's my other option?” she says finally.

“I don't know,” he admits. “I just don't want to see them use you again.”

“The Alliance has been my life,” she says. “It's been all I had for almost fifteen years. They gave me everything I had. They brought us together.”

“I can't tell you not to stay,” he says. “I wouldn't if I could. It's your decision and I won't think any less of you for making it. I worry, is all. You deserve better than to be lauded as a hero one minute and used as a scapegoat the next.”

“So defensive,” murmurs Shepard. “And such a departure from the past few years. That takes me back to when you were my sweet lieutenant and I could do no wrong.”

“I'm serious.”

“I know. And I'm taking it to heart. It's just a lot to think about. What about you?”

“I'm still a Spectre. I answer to the Council, not the Alliance.”

“You're still working for the Alliance.”

“For now, yeah. I don't know, Shepard, I don't like some of the stuff that's happened, but I can't walk away just yet. Not when there's still so much rebuilding to do. After that, I don't know. But you don't have to work for them just because I am. We can find something else.”

“You may be right,” she says after a while.

Honestly he's not sure what there is left for her in the Alliance. They wear her down at her delicate edges, push her a little too hard, ask for a little too much, and she doesn't have it to give anymore. She needs to keep what's left of her to herself, to heal. He's afraid of what will happen if she doesn't.

 


	62. Chapter 62

Fall is rapidly approaching winter by the time Shepard can walk unassisted- two surgeries later, though not without a handful of painkillers. The Alliance quarters where she and Kaidan reside have emptied and then filled again with new recruits, the former occupants finally moving on to find their homes and families and whatever remains of their old lives. The new recruits are comprised mainly of those who have lost everything, who have nothing to go back to, seeking the companionship of the military life. It's nice, actually, having them around: there's always someone to help Shepard with her physical therapy while Kaidan is on the Citadel, always someone to talk to when the silence gets too much, always someone to remind her that she did a good thing, and sometimes she needs that.

“There's a visitor for you,” says Private Burke, helping Shepard to her feet, halfway through her stretches. “Someone important.”

“That would be a change,” says Shepard wryly. Her left leg is still stiff; she rubs it as they walk. The facility is far emptier than it used to be, the sparse décor even more spartan, the massive walls of windows now broken and boarded over. A familiar figure is lingering in the entrance hall.

Shepard snaps to a salute. “Admiral.”

“Captain Shepard,” says Hackett. “You're looking hale and healthy. Or is it Captain Alenko now?”

She doesn't quite blush, but her cheeks grow warm. “No sir, still Shepard. I'm managing, but if we could sit...?”

“Ah. Of course...”

Private Burke scurries away into the depths of the building as they move to the side of the hall, where a bench is nestled between dusty fake plants. She sinks down with a wince, her back screaming like the bones are rubbing together. Hackett perches next to her. Inwardly she marvels that even now, after everything, he's as put together as he always has been, while she's half a mess in fatigues and a t-shirt over bandage-wrapped limbs.

“What brings you here? A little out of the way when last I heard you were in London.”

He leans forward, folding his long fingers. “I'm here with a question for you.”

“Must be important, if you couldn't ask over QEC. I hope it's not saving the galaxy again, cause I might have to decline.”

It's a weak joke, she knows, but he smiles anyway. “Have you been keeping up with galactic politics?” he asks.

She considers. “When I can,” she replies. “Physio keeps me busy five days a week and the other two I see a therapist. I'm beat by the time I'm done. The last thing I want to think about is politicians arguing with each other about what to do with the ruins of the galaxy we barely saved.”

“It's a mess,” he agrees. “Six different races are demanding seats on the Council, the krogan chief among them. The asari are facing a huge backlash for concealing the Prothean tech you uncovered on Thessia. We won an unwinnable war and the only thing that stayed the same are the petty squabbles.”

“Sounds about right. Tell me we found a human councilor who won't sink to that level.”

“That's what I came to talk to you about, actually.”

A couple of seconds pass, and then her laughter rings out in the empty hall.

“You're kidding me.”

“The one thing they can agree on is who they want for the human councilor,” he says. “Someone with experience in the field. Someone who negotiated truces between warring races in the middle of a catastrophe.”

“Someone who can barely walk for more than ten minutes?” Shepard challenges. “Someone who can't bear to set foot on the Citadel?”

He spreads his hands. “I'm passing on the message, Shepard. The Council wants you. Of course, the Alliance won't give you up without a fight either. We lost a lot of strategists, a lot of high-ranking leaders. You would be a welcome addition to our ranks.”

“Politics,” she says.

“Either would be a fitting place for you. You might not want to admit it, but you're a hell of a politician. The Council would be lucky to have you, and you might be able to do some good there. The Alliance parliament would benefit from your experience and expertise, and there's a very real chance you'd make admiral before long. I'm sure they wouldn't say no to Major Alenko, either.”

She remembers joining the Alliance, remembers what it felt like after the initial bloodlust had worn off. She remembers the feeling of family, the sense that she was doing some good in the world, the idea that respect was earned by hard work. With nothing else in her life, she'd thrown herself into the Alliance heart and soul, mind and body, with the thought that maybe, one day, she'd be one of those illustrious figures who rose from nothing.

Somehow the rank doesn't mean much to her anymore. Even “Captain” sounds foreign in front of her name. Here, everyone calls her “Shepard.” No need for formalities, no need for a uniform with all the requisite stripes and bars, and as much as the military life had suited her, something in the connection is broken now.

And the Council- hell, they'd butted heads from the start, ridiculed her, staunchly refused to put any faith in her after she'd proven herself right time and again. A competent human councilor would be a start, but how much progress could she possibly make? A part of her worries what it would be like to represent humanity. Another part reminds her that she already knows.

“I don't expect a decision immediately,” says Hackett. “I know it's a lot to drop on you, especially in your current condition. It seems like that's all I do to you. But I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you were capable.”

“You've been using that line on me since I became a Spectre,” she says.

“I meant it every time,” he replies simply.

She's quiet for a moment. _Capable_. Sometimes it seems like she's the only one in the Alliance who is capable, who is expected to drop everything and assist, and yet...

“When I was stuck on Earth telling everyone about the Reapers and no one wanted to believe me, least of all the Alliance, did you fight for me?” she asks after a time, and he cocks his head.

“I was kept abreast of the situation,” he says. “I relayed the information you gave me about the events that occurred on Aratoht. Is that what you mean?”

“No,” she replies. “What I mean is, after all the things you asked me to do, all the times I deviated from my course to respond to one of your calls, after going to Aratoht on your orders...did you take me seriously about the Reapers?”

It's obviously been a while since anyone addressed Hackett with such candor. Tension is suddenly evident in his bearing, the familiarity with which he addresses her fading from his expression.

“Personally? Yes, I took you seriously. Admiral Anderson and I took your warnings to heart. We did everything we could, but two voices out of millions don't convince many. Is that what you're worried about? I can assure you that the rest of the Alliance believes you quite thoroughly at this point.”

“How long til they throw me under the bus this time?”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

She masters the anger, keeps her voice steady, though she wants to scream. “I gave everything to the Alliance, and you barely looked me in the eye when you took it. I gave my heart and soul and body and been called a liar and a terrorist for my trouble. I've been broken into pieces so many times, and now I'm standing here, still battered mind and body from the last time, and you're back with another favor. What do I have left to give?”

“You were wronged,” he agrees, though his voice is still tight. “Anyone in the Alliance will admit that. If you're looking for an apology, some recompense, we can discuss it.”

She laughs. It's humorless. “Six months. I bought you six months to form a plan against the Reapers and you did nothing. Six months you let me sit on the sidelines, useless. How many people died who could have been saved?”

Hackett closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. Shepard has seen men on the end of their ropes before, driven them there, and she recognizes the signs.

“What exactly do you want, Shepard?”

“I want to know if you want me as a soldier with experiences, with feelings and opinions, or if you want me as figurehead to look pretty to the rest of the galaxy on behalf of the Alliance.”

“Your use to the Alliance at this point is mainly ornamental,” he says, and she feels a stab of triumph mixed with her anger. “You can't be a soldier anymore, not any time soon. Your mental state is questionable. While you have experience, most of it came because we looked the other way. You've gotten away with a lot under the Alliance, I don't know if you realize that. You won us a war, and you're a hero. No one will argue that. But your response to a declined request was to stab yourself and attempt blackmail. Well-adjusted soldiers don't do that. It's possible that in time you'll recover, and you'll be posted again, but for now, yes, you are being offered a position as a figurehead.”

“Just say that next time,” she says. “It's less embarrassing for both of us.”

Hackett sighs. “I hope you get well soon, Shepard. Anderson always worried about you, about your temper, your disregard for rules. I can't imagine what you're feeling, what you've been through, but attacking the Alliance won't help you.”

“I appreciate the advice, sir,” she says coolly.

His face is unreadable when he shakes her hand. She keeps hers blank as well, but they both feel the new rift between them. Part of her wants to show up at the Alliance parliament and see what happens. The rest doubts she'll ever see him again.

 


	63. Chapter 63

2187 – Vancouver

November

 

The spaceport is quiet. Departures are less regular now, though they have been increasing with the repair efforts, but space traffic is still rare on most days thanks to the lack of ships moving through the system. Even less dock here in Vancouver, where the damage started early and persisted through the war, still more rubble than city.

It doesn't seem like over three years since she first laid eyes on the Normandy, back when it was the pinnacle of innovation, the flagship of the Alliance. It's been through changes, just like her, even a second body just like hers, and though she doesn't see many more adventures on her horizon, the ship lays waiting, shiny and new-looking again, for its next mission.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" says Kaidan as they stand at the window over the docking bay, looking down at the ship- their ship, their home, ready to leave without them for the first time in a long time. "It all started with the Normandy."

She slips an arm around his waist. "It'll be strange, knowing she's out there with a new crew. I don't like it."

"There's still time for you to change your mind," he says. "If you really want to, I'm sure Hackett will give her back to you."

For a moment she considers it- walking through those halls again, standing at the galaxy map and looking out across the stars. She thinks about her cabin, empty now, where she spent so much time tormented by her decisions and wracked with guilt, but where she fell in love and followed its roller-coaster ride to where she is now. She thinks about the pain and loss, all the people who are no longer with them who once roamed the halls of that ship, but reminded her of the importance of friendship and camaraderie. She remembers the terror and fear, fending off attacks on alien planets, but the thrill of discovery that came along with it, the power of setting foot in places few people have dared to tread. For a moment- just a moment, she wants nothing more than to throw on her old fatigues and stand at the helm again, back to danger and excitement and the best and worst years of her life.

"That's behind me now," she says, with no small sadness, and he squeezes her shoulders. There's relief in the gesture, as though he half expected her to answer differently.

"It's like watching your kid go off to college," he says.

"She was our baby," Shepard agrees.

"You two are entirely too sickly sweet to stand," says a voice behind them.

"I wondered where you were," says Shepard as Joker limps forward to meet them. "We were just reminiscing about the good old days."

"Ah, right, the ones where we were constantly being attacked and you died a couple of times. Those good old days?"

"Exactly."

Joker joins them at the window, staring down at the ship.

"It'll be weird without you there," he admits. "Breaking in a new captain is always the hard part, you know. I got lucky with you- you appreciated my constant sarcasm and my witty ways."

"If that's what you want to believe," she replies.

"Rude. But on the plus side, I probably won't have to worry as much about getting lasered in half by Collectors or swarmed with zombies or anything."

“You'll be so bored you won't know what to do with yourself,” teases Shepard.

Joker smiles. Despite the jokes, there's something sad in it, and Shepard feels it likewise in her chest.

“Well. If you're going my way, I'd be happy to give you one last ride. Captain.”

She draws a deep breath, and steels herself.

 

-

 

Most of the Citadel looks the same, she's relieved to see. Though she's shaking like a leaf, the familiar sights calm her nerves the further they walk. In the Normandy's docking bay, Joker's new crew is waiting, and they point her out to each other with excitement.

“Remember how it felt to be that young and eager?” says Kaidan wistfully. “Your first time in space, when everything was new and all the opportunities in the galaxy were open to you?”

“I hope they'll have an easier time than we did,” replies Shepard. “If anything, they're braver and crazier than we were, to enlist after everything we went through.”

“Would you do it all again, though? If you had the chance to live your life over, would you do it all again?”

“Hell, Alenko, who but the Alliance would ever hire my ass?” But she sobers. “Yes. Knowing what I do now, I'd do it all again. I'd make all the same choices. Except maybe I'd have been a little nicer to you after Horizon.”

His laughter seems loud as they walk through the quiet of the presidium commons. Here, there is visible damage, but evidence of rebuilding. Every so often the whine of power tools cuts through the silence. Keepers scurry past. Shepard gives a delicate shudder and looks away when one cuts just a little too close to them.

“They recycled the bodies,” she says. “The beam brought bodies up to the Citadel and the keepers...processed them.”

Kaidan doesn't reply, but his grip tightens on her hand.

“Remember when we first came here?” he says instead. “When you were made the first human Spectre? It seemed like the most amazing place in the galaxy.”

“It was,” she agrees. “Back then I'd never seen anything like it. It doesn't seem so big now, not like it was when you and Ash were with me. I never forgot staring out across the skyline from that viewpoint in the wards.”

“Ash teased the hell out of me for what I said to you that day,” he says ruefully.

“It was sweet,” she says. “You absolutely deserved it, but it was sweet.”

“You know, I...think that Ash was with you,” he says haltingly, and Shepard glances up at him. “That night when you...you said she was. Not the Ash you saw. Not the one who says those things to you. The real one. If there's an afterlife like she believed in, I have no doubt she was there, looking after you. Making sure you came back alive.”

There's an ache in Shepard's throat. “I hope so,” she replies.

They stop a few times for her to gather herself, to close her eyes and breathe. No one glances in her direction; everyone is too focused on their repairs to pay attention to an overwhelmed human, and her casual clothes don't immediately identify her as her famous persona. When she's mastered herself, let Kaidan calm her with soothing words and reminded herself that she's alive and the war is over, they find their way to where the Council is convened and waiting for them.

“Good luck,” whispers Kaidan, squeezing her hand.

She can't help but laugh, thinking about her first visit to the Council, all those years ago. “I'll need it,” she says.

It's been over three years since she's been the Council Chambers. She remembers seeing it decimated during the Battle of the Citadel, the destruction of the carefully manicured gardens when they defeated Saren and Sovereign. Since then, clearly much has changed. While it must have suffered damage from the Crucible, rebuilding has progressed here, a calm and soothing area for the Council to meet. For a moment Shepard forgets that she's in space, that she's on the Citadel, surrounded by trees and fountains as she approaches the dais where the Council stands.

“Captain Shepard,” says the asari councilor, Tevos, when she steps forward, straightening up. “We are pleased you could join us. There were a lot of rumors about your condition, but it's good to see you in person. The galaxy owes you a great debt.”

“Nothing new there,” she says.

“I take it that Admiral Hackett has approached you with our offer?”

“He did. I'm flattered, and I've given it a lot of consideration. But it's not a position I can take without making some changes.”

“We're happy to listen to your requests, Shepard. It's the least we can do.”

Shepard crosses her arms. “Okay. First and foremost- the Council has to be expanded. Any race that requests a seat on the Council gets one. No arguments about it. Through the course of this war I've seen the extremes of cowardice and bravery from every race in the galaxy. None of us are any better or worse than the others. Everyone deserves to be represented if they choose to be.”

The three councilors look at each other. “It's...something we have discussed, actually,” admits Tevos. “My people are facing inquiry for concealing Prothean data. Salarian forces are being questioned for avoiding involvement due to hard feelings with the krogan. If we learned nothing else from this war it's that we as separate races preach teamwork while actively avoiding it.”

“I'm glad to hear it. But I do mean every race. However big it needs to be. If the batarians want a seat, they get a seat. Hell, if the geth want a seat, they get a seat. Non-negotiable.”

“Noted,” says Tevos, inclining her head. “Was there anything else?”

“Yeah. I can't live here. Not at first. I'd be happy to join you with QEC from a secure location. The Alliance might be willing to help with that. I could even be here in person once a week or so. But I have a lot of issues with this place, and a lot that I need to work out. There's no timeline on that, but it's best I'm on Earth for the foreseeable future.”

“A true soldier knows her weaknesses,” says the turian councilor, Sparatus, and Shepard is pleased. Of the three, he was always the one least willing to see eye-to-eye with her. It's almost heartening to hear.

“If that is the only way we can have you, we'll make due,” adds Tevos.

Shepard resists the impulse to smile. “I expected a little more resistance, to be honest. You know, based on our history.”

Tevos does smile. “We're willing to let the past remain in the past, if you're willing to do the same.”

She nods. “I do have a question. Why me? I've caused nothing but problems for you, let's be honest. I was a disastrous Spectre. I have no taste for politics and I'm not exactly the most level-headed soldier the Alliance ever had.”

“And yet you've crafted alliances between warring races,” replies Sparatus. “You have a talent for diplomacy, even if you refuse to see it. You've done what needed to be done in situations where others doubted you. You've made a name for yourself, proven yourself to be someone trustworthy to all races in the galaxy.”

“So does that mean no hard feelings for hanging up on you all those times way back when?” she jokes.

“Maybe try to break that habit,” he suggests.

“We'll contact you when a decision has been made. Thank you for your...candor,” says Tevos.

Shepard manages to hold herself together as far as the door. When it closes behind her, she has to clap a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter.

“What's so funny?” asks Kaidan as she rejoins him.

“Nothing,” she responds, shaking the grin off her face. “The difference a couple of years makes, is all.”

“Don't forget a major war,” he reminds her. “So?”

“I guess we'll see,” she says breezily. “I don't think we'll be waiting long, though.”

They're eating lunch barely fifteen minutes later when she gets the ping on her omni-tool.

 

 


	64. Chapter 64

2188 – Vancouver

 

They marry in the spring, a year after their reunion. It's a small ceremony, held outdoors at his family's orchard, kept secret from the public, attended only by their friends and family. Shepard manages to get in a dance with her new husband before the aches and pains from impending rain force her down. Probably for the best, she reflects wryly as she sits on the porch with Tali and Wrex, watching her friends mingle.

She wears a simple dress with fitted sleeves, simple flat shoes. Her hair, still on the short side, sports only a flowered barrette. Her scars are softened with makeup, though not completely hidden. It's perhaps the most feminine she's ever looked, and it's nice, in a way, to feel like a normal person, to know the eyes on her aren't merely to make sure she's not about to kill someone.

"Captain! You know, I had to do a lap of this whole place before someone pointed you out to me," says Joker, sinking into the seat next to her. "I was like, 'No, that's not Shepard, there's not a single bloodstain on her dress and nowhere to hide a handgun.'"

"It's Councilor. You do realize even now I can and will kick your ass, right?"

"I'm touched that you would ruin your own wedding just to beat me up. No, really. Now I assume you're going to Tuchanka for your honeymoon, right? Great choice."

Laughter spills from her before she can stop it. "Nice to see you haven't changed while I've been gone. Captain Bradford treating you okay?"

"You will not believe this, but he hasn't ordered me into a single suicide mission."

"Doesn't sound like a good captain to me, then. How's EDI?"

"Well enough. I have her on earpiece.” He leans toward her, and she tilts her ear to listen.

“Hello, Shepard,” says the familiar voice. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

“Thanks, EDI,” she says. “That's handy.”

“This is about the limit of her broadcast range, but we're working on it. She's got some surprisingly helpful geth friends trying to get her back into a mobile platform. They don't really understand her specifications for it-"

"More like your specifications," teases Shepard.

He holds up his hands. "I make suggestions, not demands. All I ask is that her mobile platform doesn't look like me. Or you. Don't punch me," he adds while she laughs. "I mean, you clean up okay, but you still kinda scare me."

"She looks beautiful," defends Tali, who is drunk.

"She looks like a flower," says Wrex. It is not a compliment. "Are you sure you don't want to have Alenko fight someone to the death for you?"

"No, goddammit. Kaidan is not fighting anyone to the death. Why is everyone trying to incite violence at my wedding?"

Tali shrugs. "We've come to expect it."

"I'll fight him, it'll be fun," says Wrex. "If he can get me on the ground I'll give you my blessing."

"Yes! I'll take bets. This will be the greatest wedding ever," says Joker.

"Oh my God," says Shepard. "Someone please remind me why I invited all of you."

"Because you don't have any normal friends," suggests Joker.

"I need a drink. Nobody instigate a fight while I'm gone."

She joins Garrus and Chakwas at the bar and gazes out across the yard. It's hard to believe they've all been apart for over a year, that their days on the Normandy are long done. While calls and messages are frequent, it's tough to keep in contact when you're a galaxy apart.

"Doing okay?" Kaidan asks, kissing her cheek and reaching for a beer. He is not drunk, though his face is flushed, possibly because he hasn't stopped smiling. In his dress blues he cuts an impressive figure that leaves something hot and liquid twisting in the pit of her stomach. That will have to be settled later.

"I'm good. Wrex might try to fight you, so heads up on that."

"I was just wondering why we don't all meet up more often, and you've answered that question for me," he replies wryly.

"It's out of love. I think."

"Right."

"I think I'm going to tell them," she says. She's been thinking about it since long before the wedding, considering the ups and downs of her plan, convincing herself that it would be best to do it when everyone was together again. "The whole story. Everything that happened up there."

"Tonight?"

She nods. "Yeah. Tonight."

"If you're up to it," he replies.

She is. Though she doesn't know how they'll react, she knows she owes them the real story, the whole truth, the best she can remember. They fought by her side, they followed her to hell and back, and the least she can do is fill in the missing pieces, regardless of how they'll see her when she's finished, and she's already waited this long.

The candles are burning low when she gathers everyone together on the porch, the sun is sinking into orange and red on the horizon. There's a framed photograph of her parents on the table, one of Kaidan's father beside it. Next to them is another- Admiral Anderson. Scattered in front of them are pictures of others they have lost, scraps of paper with names written on them: Ashley, Thane, Mordin, Legion. The rest of her original crew, the lost family members of each of them. Shepard regards them with silence for a long moment before she looks up at the group surrounding her. Each of them has been by her side from the beginning, each has played their part in this war the same as she has, and each deserves the sense of closure that she has so far denied them. Kaidan lays a hand on her arm, lending her some of his strength to draw upon while she relieves the worst moment of her life. She's never been more grateful to have his support as she is now.

"I owe you all some answers, I think," she says at long last. "I should have told you long before, but I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. I was...sick, for a long time. What happened on the Citadel that night was an experience I suffered alone, that I came to blame myself for. I faced a choice when it came down to activating the Crucible, or what I perceived as a choice. I chose to destroy the Reapers, the synthetic consciousness keeping them alive, at the cost of destroying everything affected with their code. I knew it would happen. I assumed it would result in my own death as well, knowing that Cerberus augmented me with technology derived from the Reapers. I knew it would mean the loss of EDI, who had come to be a friend and teammate. I knew it would mean the loss of the geth, who fought so hard to help us. I knew it wouldn't necessarily stop the war forever, that synthetics might once again try to exterminate organics sometime in the future, but I chose it anyway.

"I could have chosen otherwise. I could have chosen to the control the Reapers, as the Illusive Man so desperately wished to do. I could have become their new consciousness, directing them at my will. I didn't trust myself to do that. I am one person, and my thoughts, my emotions are my own. What I perceive as a good choice may not be what others agree with. What I perceive as a good choice now may not be what I agree with a thousand years in the future. And I did not trust that the Reapers could be controlled. I saw what they did to him, what they did to Saren. I saw the indoctrination time and again, those who fought against the Reapers and lost, and what good would I do if I fell into the same trap? No, I could not do that.

"Or I could have chosen to merge synthetic and organic beings. To stop the ongoing war between the two, maybe forever. To give each synthetic the traits that we consider organic, to make each organic more efficient with traits we consider synthetic. This I did not trust myself to do, either. I felt it was too big of a decision to leave to one person, to affect the entire galaxy without consent, without knowing the extent of what would happen. Would a husk regain sentience? Would it feel pain, horror at what it has become? Would it truly bring peace? Would anything guarantee peace? And for how long? No, there were too many questions. I could not do that."

She pauses. There is no sound but the occasional crack of the candles burning.

"I did not make this decision lightly. It has haunted me since that night, thinking about all we lost. That I lost. I still don't know if it was the right choice. I was badly injured. I was dying. I had just seen Admiral Anderson give his life to stop the Reapers and that was all I could think of. Destroy them, as we all agreed they must be destroyed. As they tried to destroy us. I am one soldier, and the decision shouldn't have been mine, but it was. I did what I felt was necessary, and I don't regret it.”

Silence greets her as she finishes. Every pair of eyes is fixed on her face. Then everyone starts talking at once.

“I don't know what I expected,” says Shepard later, as they're traveling to their hotel. “More dissent, maybe?”

“Like I told you. It's hard to put yourself in that position. You never know what you're going to do until you're there,” replies Kaidan.

She expected anger, accusations, but while Joker had been slightly peevish about the reveal until admitting that he didn't really have any desire to be “part robot, or something,” no one blamed her outright for what had happened. Instead it became something of a discussion, everyone mulling over what they would have done. While many were squarely in her corner, Tali expressed wistfulness for the possibility that synthetic tech would have freed her people from their protective suits, and Javik relished the idea that creatures such as Reapers might be controlled.

It's freeing, having her secret spread out over so many. She catches her reflection smiling in the shuttle window. Is it her imagination, or is there something lighter about her now, the weight that had been pressing her down for so long finally lifted?

“What would you really have done?” she asks. “If you'd been in my place up there, on the Citadel?”

“Froze up, probably. A decision that big...I've been thinking about it since you first told me, and I'm no closer to finding an answer. God willing, I'll never find myself in that position. You were always better at those big decisions. One of the reasons I always followed you. Why I'll still follow you, for as long as you'll let me.”

He smiles, and she can't help but peck him on the lips.

“We should make this a yearly event,” she says.

“Hm? The wedding or the party?”

“The party. I'm not marrying you every year.”

He chuckles. “Your loss.”

“What time does our shuttle leave tomorrow?”

He checks his omni-tool. “Eight. We should probably try to get some sleep. It's late.”

“Late? It's our wedding day and I haven't even gotten started,” she says, smile replaced with a wicked grin, and she climbs into his lap. “I have yet to strip that uniform off you piece by piece, Major.”

“Hell,” he breathes. She loves that look in his eyes, the feverish one that's brought on by her touch, even after all this time. “Let's keep it together til we get to the hotel, all right?”

“Oh, I will,” she assures him. “You might not.”

He does. Barely.

 

-

 

Through a hazy sky, against a backdrop of gently rolling storms on the horizon and the ominous rumble of thunder, a shuttle descends through the atmosphere, cutting clouds as it reaches the sandy shoreline for a landing. Electricity crackles in the distance, thin tongues of light that touch the surface of the water and then disappear. Foamy waves race inland to meet the shuttle's occupants, pooling around the feet of the two armored shapes that step out into the sand.

“God,” breathes the smaller of the two figures. “I hardly remember how it looked the first time we landed. Was it always this beautiful?”

“A paradise,” says the other. “I remember. I thought that if I was going to die here, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. There are worse places.”

Shepard looks out over the rocky cliffs, holding Kaidan's arm for stability. Ahead, there is evidence of violence, a scar on the land that is partially healed. Though the lush jungle is d0ing its best to retake it, the scorched remains where a facility once stood are clearly visible, a crater surely concealed somewhere in its depths.

“There are worse places,” she repeats.

“Ash would be proud of you- of everything you've done. She wouldn't regret a thing. You know that.”

Shepard hopes he's right. She wasn't sure what she expected to find here, some absolution she's been denying herself perhaps, but Virmire remains beautiful and empty and silent, an unknowing memorial to her friend and fellow soldier. Ashley leaves no presence here, like Shepard knew she wouldn't, but the act of standing here in the sand again is nonetheless comforting, though she's close to buckling under the weight of her protective suit.

“I miss her,” says Shepard. “She would have loved the chance to stand up to the Reapers.”

“I miss her, too,” he says. “Do you...still see her?”

She shakes her head. The voice in the back of her head had been her own all along, and it has faded with her guilt, the realization that Ashley never had and never would say such things to her. Some part of her had known that from the beginning: that Ash's face was a convenient one to view everything lost in the war because she had never stopped feeling that guilt for leaving her behind. Her therapist explained it to her gently: a visage that she imagined while she was dying, a symptom of the PTSD that will affect her for the rest of her life, no more real than the nightmares that still plague her.

“Ash is gone,” she says. “She died here, five years ago, so that the rest of us could live.”

She lets go of Kaidan's arm and moves further down the shore. There is a rocky ledge where the cliff meets the sand, far enough inland to be out of the waves, and sheltered from the elements, and it's here she stops, setting down her bag.

In the alcove beneath the ledge she places a small gold cross, a book of poetry. There's a set of dog tags, copies, that she puts with them. Last, a frame containing a picture of her family, sent by Ashley's mother, and tucked in the corner, a much smaller photo of the Normandy.

Kaidan steps forward, touches the ledge. “Rest well, Chief.” His voice is choked.

Shepard does likewise. “Goodbye, Ash.”

It's unlikely her memorial will be disturbed, hidden as it is on this inconsequential planet. They stand together in the sand, in silence, in memories long past. Kaidan reaches for her hand, encased in a protective glove. She lets him take it.

 


	65. Chapter 65

Epilogue  
  


2190 – Vancouver

  
  


It's common for Shepard to come home late, but it's rare that Kaidan is asleep by the time she gets back. Tonight is one of those rare nights, but as soft as she tries to make her footsteps, he wakes at the sound of her padding quietly into the bedroom. In the dim light from the bedside lamp, her lithe form moves across the room, shadow sliding along the wall beside her as she turns to look at him.

"You're awake?"

"You're late," he responds sleepily. She bends to turn on a second light, the soft one on the vanity, and her face emerges from the darkness. One hand reaches out to give a brief pat to the dog at the end of the bed.

"Sorry. Tuchanka time," she explains, turning to the mirror and releasing the pins from her hair, letting it tumble down her shoulders in soft curls, grown out from the uneven crop she'd worn just after the war, though it still grows unevenly around the old scars. She wears it longer now, lets it soften the hard lines of her face.

"Expansion plans?"

"And naturally I have to be the one to negotiate them, never mind the rest of the Council." She rolls her eyes at her reflection, but despite her bluster he knows she enjoys her job as councilor. "Certain krogan are getting to be pretty damn particular about their contacts on the Citadel."

He's not surprised at that. "Excuses, excuses. Here I was, preparing a romantic dinner to surprise you, and you'd still rather be on a date with Wrex. Even after all these years."

She chuckles. "Liar. You had last night's leftovers for dinner."

"And then passed out with a migraine," he admits.

"My poor, long-suffering husband," she says fondly, peeling off her dress. In the wake of the war she'd embraced the fashionable long-sleeve, full length look made popular by the asari. Not to hide her scars, she'd said, because she was never ashamed of any of her scars, but to blend in, to embrace her new identity as a councilor instead of a soldier. The scars are still noticeable after three years: the burns down her left side, from neck to waist, from shoulder to wrist, pale and pink despite the extensive treatments, but they don't bother her as much anymore. She wriggles out of the dress and lays it over the nearby chair, turning her full attention to him finally as she kneels on the foot of the bed and crawls up to meet him.

She's still achingly beautiful, a little softer around the edges from the sharp decrease in physical activity. Workouts are harder for her now; she tires easily and gets discouraged now and then, but the worry lines have fled from her face, the ones he thought were permanently etched there, and she smiles easily and laughs more sincerely than she has in a long time. He supposes it's the same for him: there's no military regiment anymore, no battles to fight besides the endless political arguments. Shepard doesn't give interviews anymore, doesn't talk about those hard days during the war, lets comments about them pass with a fleeting smile. They're free of that now, both of them, free to live like normal people, to put those horrors behind them the best they can and move forward together.

She settles next to him with a sigh, raises her hand to brush the hair off his forehead and kisses his temple next to the gray hair she's so fond of.

"I told you not to work so hard," she says. "You had the kids today, right? I don't want them taking a toll on you."

"It wasn't that bad," he assures her. "Just a little tough to keep a roomful of six year olds from using a biotic throw on everything in sight. I got knocked around a fair few times, but most of them are getting a handle on keeping it under control."

"You have the patience of a saint," she says with a yawn. "Always have."

He extracts an arm from the blankets and pulls her closer.

"They're just kids," he says. "Once they learn their own strength, they'll be practically unstoppable. They're already beating the adult classes. By the time they're old enough for implants they'll be rivaling the asari. They've got the makings of a great biotiball team."

"Just do me a favor and don't teach them to charge. It would be embarrassing to tell people my husband got his ass kicked by a preschooler."

"Speaking of kids," he says tentatively, and sees the familiar uncertainty pass over her face, feels the tension roll through her shoulders.

"Kaidan, I...I don't know. Everything that's happened...I don't know how long it will take before I'm well enough to be responsible for another life." There's genuine apology on her face, and he leans in to kiss her gently on the forehead.

"I know. When you're ready...if you're ready..."

"We can talk about it," she says. "That's the best I can do for now."

He strokes her hair. They've had this conversation before: he'd like kids, but she's still hesitant, and he understands. They aren't even sure if she can conceive after the multitude of medical issues she's been through, if she wants to put her already battered body though yet another ordeal, and while he would just as soon adopt, she doesn't consider herself stable enough to take that next step yet. She's better, yes- most of the time, but there are still days when it's hard, and adding anything more on top of that, if she ever decides she can handle it, is her decision to make.

But he has Shepard. He never wanted anything more. And if it's only ever just the two of them in this house, he wouldn't mind.

“It's fine. I won't push you. I might not have the energy anyway. Teaching is a lot harder than I expected.”

She laughs softly. “You were a Spectre, and you can't handle a room of kids?”

“ _You_ were a Spectre, and you still can't tell Wrex no,” he counters.

“Mm. Never could. The krogan really gets me,” she says fondly.

“Yeah, yeah, he's your true love. I get it. No need to rub it in.”

“The love that can never be,” she sighs dramatically. “I settled for you instead.”

“Tragic. For you, anyway. I made out pretty good.”

“Yeah, you did.” She pokes him in the stomach, eliciting a laugh. “At least you have a decent body.”

“That's awfully shallow, Shepard. Surely I have some other qualities.”

“Maybe a few.” She kisses him, slow and lingering, then throws back the blanket and makes herself comfortable next to him. The dog shifts and curls up again near their feet. “I kinda like you and all that. Those weird squishy feelings.”

It's late now, the early morning hours not far away, and for once there's nothing to distract them from each other. The lack of pressing emergencies was almost unsettling at first, learning to accept the promise of undivided attention and safety and silence was slow, especially for Shepard. But the sounds of crickets chirping and soft rain falling finally began to spell relaxation for her, and though she still wakes sometimes in a panic, it's less often and much easier to calm her again.

“It's gonna rain,” she says into his neck, her voice already thick with sleep. He finds the spot in her hip that aches the worst in bad weather and rubs circles into it, moving into her lower back. She makes a pleased sound.

“I saw her today,” murmurs Shepard. “The Normandy. Right before I walked down to catch my shuttle, back in her old docking bay. I was tempted.”

“You know I live in fear of the day you hijack her and disappear into the outskirts of space, right?”

She laughs, warm and sleepy against him.

“Without you? Don't be stupid,” she says. “I'd never leave you behind. You know that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who read this! This fic was my love letter to Bioware/this pairing and I'm glad so many people enjoyed it in a fandom I didn't expect to still be so active.
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr at http://missadriella.tumblr.com/


End file.
